


Indelible Marks

by billtheradish



Series: I.N.K. [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Community: teenwolfkink, Developing Relationship, Insomnia, M/M, Magic, Mild Gore, Nightmares, Non-Graphic Violence, Original Character(s), Slow Build, Still Werewolves, Tattoos, awesome OCs, character development IS the plot, past trauma, still dealing with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-22
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2017-11-16 20:19:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 87
Words: 275,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/billtheradish/pseuds/billtheradish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The house never burned. The pack is strong. Derek will never need to be the alpha, and his sister is a troll.  (Actually, most of his family is like that.)</p><p>Derek is an apprentice tattoo artist, and Stiles isn't old enough to get ink of his own yet. But that doesn't stop him from being interesting...</p><p>(This story is now out of buffer, but I will always announce when the next update will be, and am trying to keep to a regular posting schedule. Also, please be advised that this is essentially a rough draft. That doesn't mean it's riddled with typos, every chapter is edited, just that the overarching plot and side stories haven't had a chance to be edited in full yet--but they will be. An edited version of this story will be posted eventually, so if the current length isn't your cup of tea, just come back later.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> This work has strayed so, so far from its [original prompt](http://teenwolfkink.livejournal.com/6131.html?thread=4632307#t4632307), but I hope it will still make the poster and everyone interested in the prompt happy.
> 
> Be aware that while I've only marked this as M/M, there are also other pairings in the background which are F/M and F/F.

It wasn't unusual for people to loiter outside Tinge. The airbrushed mannequin legs they used for practice drew attention, if the life-sized photographs of Vic and Tony's nude torsos somehow failed to. If nothing else, they were due for another complaint about the display being indecent, and that usually involved people loitering outside first.

Teenage boys, however, usually wound up in front of Vic's portrait, not Tony's. And the ones who did didn't spend much time studying the legs or glancing at the door.

So when a teenaged boy stood for nearly ten minutes alternating between looking at Tony's ink, the display legs, and the door, it was a bit confusing. And annoying. His stubbly head was just visible above the legs, when he was standing somewhere that Derek could see him. Which wouldn't be so bad if he'd just. stop. moving.

The kid's head kept swaying in and out of view, his shoulders shifting as he adjusted his grip on his bag. Sometimes he'd pop up suddenly after leaning in to examine one of the legs. It was a constant series of short, sharp gestures that Derek's brain was hard-wired to track.

He was fifteen if he was a day and had absolutely no reason to be hanging around a tattoo parlor unless it was to ogle the nude photos or ask obnoxious questions. And it was the first time ever that Derek had glared at someone loitering outside and wished they'd just come in and ask the obnoxious questions already. He couldn't get any work done with the constant twitches of movement.

But that didn't mean he actually wanted to engage with those obnoxious questions. When the boy finally straightened up and moved stiffly for the door, Derek pulled out the appointment book and hunched over it as though he was actually doing something.

The bells rang and he looked up, freezing as the light gave the stranger's eyes a wolf's glow for a moment. The illusion passed as the kid raised a hand to rub over the back of his head, blocking the light long enough to show that they were just a normal warm brown. Derek nodded at him before going back to staring at the schedule. Fifteen, maybe sixteen. He had the same chaotic funk of hormones, perfumes, ink, and cleaners that Danielle brought home every day. Eau de High School, at its finest.

It took a moment for the kid to start exploring. (Probably put off by Derek's lack of niceties, but whatever. If he was old enough to be a customer, Derek would volunteer for Friday and Saturday closing for a year.) He just looked, first. Turning his whole body to look around without moving.

When he finally did move, it was with the same sort of disjointed lurching that had made him so obnoxious outside. Growing into his limbs, still. He didn't approach the register, at least. Instead, he walked over to the consultation counter and looked past it at their actual working space. Then he moved over to the bookshelves that held the studio's portfolios and various art books they kept around for inspiration.

And Derek...forgot about him. He was being quiet, poking around in perfectly acceptable, expected ways. Eventually he put the appointment book away and went back to working on a lotus mandala design and the kid just faded into the background, jerky little bobs and shuffled steps and all.

The clash of scents softened and after a while, he just became part of the background.

Then he cleared his throat, and Derek realized he was standing right on the other side of the counter.

Derek flipped his sketchbook closed and scowled, which earned him an amused arching of the kid's eyebrows. 

"Really? That's what you're going with?" He smiled and leaned forward against the counter, peering down through the glass to check out the jewelry they had on display.

"Is there something you want?" Derek asked, frowning when the kid shrugged.

"Nothing specific yet," he started before looking up again and spearing Derek with his entire focus. "Hey, isn't it kind of weird that you don't have any tattoos?"

Derek scowled again. "I have tattoos." Technically, it was _a_ tattoo. Singular. But he wasn't going to give any openings for annoying questions.

"But you can't see any of them." The kid frowned. "I thought all tattoo artists had lots of tattoos, like, on their arms and stuff. Why don't you? Oh, wait," he suddenly backtracked, a soft frown creasing his face. "Do you just work the desk? That's a totally legitimate job, I just thought..."

"I'm an apprentice artist," Derek managed to growl when there was room to butt in. "I don't want anything on my arms, so I don't _have_ anything on my arms. Do you have any idea what it means to have a tattoo?"

That got him a frown, but it was at least more thoughtful than offended. The kid's attention flicked up, wandering over the walls behind and beside the register. "It's art. Body art. Um, it's permanent, and there's bleeding..."

At least he wasn't entirely ignorant. Derek nodded. "Do you have any idea what the word permanent means?"

"I'm not stupid." A scowl, and a spike of pepper as his heart rate picked up. Definitely irritated now. Derek just stared back calmly until the kid looked away.

"It's not that simple when it's skin. Do a bit more research on your own and come back if you have _actual_ questions. I'm assuming you know how to use Google."

The kid's face twisted up into a smirk, but it was...definitely not a pleasant, friendly expression. "Yeah, you could say that. Fine."

And he walked out with a straight back, a bit of anger and determination in his stride and pepper trailing in his wake. Just enough challenge in his words to make him...

Too young to be interesting, Derek reminded himself firmly. He opened his sketch book again to give himself something productive to work on, but it was hard to concentrate.

\-----

Gregory Lucian Timothy Hale was born November 20th, at the Hale house during a wind storm severe enough that it knocked out the electricity. Paul and Laura spent the actual birth in the back shed making the generator cooperate, while Peter kept Tania from kicking Maria or Olivia through a wall while they handled the delivery.

Derek stayed down in the safe room with the kids, letting Matt curl up against his chest and shake while he answered the questions of the other three.

Yes, there was going to be a baby soon. No, Tania wasn't really going to rip Peter's throat out with her bare hands. Or her teeth. Yes, Tania hurt. No, they couldn't fix it. Yes, the baby was worth it.

He wasn't sure Tania would have agreed with that statement at the moment, but he assumed she would the next day, after she'd healed. After all, she'd had Matt and Gwen as a human.

\-----

"...don't you think?"

Derek paused with the back door just slightly ajar as he returned from his break, trying to sort out what was wrong--no, not wrong. Out of place. Unexpected, but not quite wrong. The faint sense of spice and metal that Vic and Cara left behind dominated, past the generic grease-ink-rubber of the parlor on the air that slid out through the crack in the door. 

There were other people he could smell, but only two were fresh. Something woody and male laced heavily with grease, blood and the red ink from Bloodline that made Derek want to sneeze. That phoenix piece Vic was doing in monthly spurts. (Derek didn't know the client's name, but he knew the man's tattoos, which were stunning, and his unfortunate allergic reaction to most of their inks.)

He couldn't quite get a grip on the fourth scent, but it wasn't a stranger. Wasn't friend or family, but it was _known_. He just couldn't place it.

Derek's other senses weren't much more helpful. The stereo was playing the best of the 90's, as it should be since it was Cara's day to pick the music. He could hear Cara talking to the fourth person at the front desk, but it was _her_ talking. Even if he opened the door the rest of the way, he wouldn't be able to see past the wall behind the register.

"Is anyone ever really too young to ask questions and make sure they know what they want?" It was a boy's voice, light and jovial, and Cara laughed in response, obviously impressed.

Derek felt his world tilting. That was the kid from last week. But his scent had registered as _familiar_ , not barely known.

"...hoping to talk to someone specific, actually," the kid continued. "He told me to come back once I'd done a bit more research."

"I _see_." Cara sounded speculative and mischievous, which was never a good combination, even if Cara was almost unbelievably _nice_ most of the time. "Well, what was his name? I'll check when he's in for you."

Derek pushed the rest of the way in, dropped his bag off at his peg in back and stalked through the work area, nodding at Vic as he passed. 

"Uh..."

The kid's face was lax and open as Derek slid between the wall behind the register and the consultation counter, but his attention was firmly focused on Cara. For her part, Cara was grinning like she thought the brat was a _puppy_ , or one of the family's cubs. 

"I've got it, Cara." He leaned behind her to set his books on the shelf below the register, ignoring Cara's pout with the ease of practice as he gently nudged her out and toward the back. The way the kid grinned and started leaking happiness through his pores was a bit harder to set aside. 

Cara pursed her lips and shrugged, moving out from behind the register counter...only to snag a stool from the consultation seating and sit at the end of the counter. Since his glare wasn't any more effective on her than her pout was on him, she just beamed and gestured expansively at both of them. "My interest has been piqued. Please do continue."

Derek snorted, then turned back to the kid. "So?"

"Were you expecting a paper or something?" For a kid, he had a reasonably decent bitch face, but his scent betrayed him. It was lacking something from the sheer blast of _happy_ he'd given off before, but it was richly sweet, nowhere near the pepper of his previous irritation. Abruptly, the kid held his hand out over the counter and pushed his eyebrows up into comical arches. "Also, hi! I'm Stiles."

Derek snorted, but shook Stiles' hand. There were lingering traces of hormonal-stew on his clothes, but it wasn't nearly as strong as it had been during the week. "Nice to meet you. So? Permanence and tattoos. Explain."

"Wh..." Stiles' eyebrows dropped into a scowl and a hint of pepper snuck in. "Do I not get to know your name?"

Derek shrugged, holding back a smirk as he pulled out his sketch book. "Not yet."

Stiles turned to Cara in indignation, but his boss was laughing too hard to be any help. She just raised her hands defensively in front of herself and shook her head when she realized that Stiles was staring at her. "Uh-uh."

Sighing, Stiles turned back to Derek, eyes narrowing as he took in Derek's apparent focus on the page in front of him. "It means age, and the effect that life has on the skin."

Derek looked up, surprised. "Keep talking." 

"Well, there's tattoo removal, right?" Stiles leaned forward against the counter, apparently fully comfortable now that he had something to talk about. "It's not something to be considered lightly and it's not a guaranteed thing, but..." He shrugged, his elbows sliding out on the glass countertop as he fanned them out, palms up. "It is an option."

Stiles straightened up into a more vertical slouch, his eyes switching over to Cara before coming back to Derek. "There's also the option of cover-ups. Which I know you know what I know about this, because Cara had some before and afters in her portfolio." Stiles waved that off like it wasn't important, but Cara was grinning like a fiend in the corner of Derek's vision and Derek... Honestly, he was surprised the kid kept track of Cara's name, let alone was able to connect it to her portfolio. 

"So for permanence," Stiles continued, "it's not really the design, right? There are limitations, but you _can_ change it. But even with removal, it's not a guarantee it'll all go. So it's more about the skin than the ink, right?" He straightened up more fully, grinning and gesturing wide at shoulder level. "Permanence for a tattoo is about things like age, body changes, scars. Or I mean, wow, pregnancy. You have to know how time and life might affect the skin the tattoo is on."

Derek and Cara both just stared at Stiles as he wound down, until he started fidgeting again. "Or...am I totally off, here?"

Cara reached over to slap Derek on the shoulder. Even by human standards it was friendly, and she was grinning as she said "Have fun with the jailbait," and stood up, shoving the stool back where it belonged.

"You're doing good, kid," she informed Stiles on her way past, and swept into the back on a wave of sweet astringents, leaving Stiles gaping after her and Derek with a nose full of smug Cara, overlaid with wood and slightly-sour Stiles.

Going by the look on the kid's face, Derek was guessing that was embarrassment. "Why did she..."

"You need to be eighteen both to get a tattoo and to legally sleep with anybody here." Derek shrugged as Stiles turned the baffled stare on him instead. "That's why."

"Right," Stiles muttered, "because that isn't disturbing _at all_."

Derek smiled, comfortable with knowing it probably wasn't going to be noticed. Humans usually didn't, focusing more on the mouth than the eyes. "Did you have questions, Stiles?"

"Yeah. What's your name?"

"About tattoos."

Stiles made a face, but he didn't object too much, at least. "I have to be eighteen to get a tattoo. What if I got parental permission?"

"Still eighteen."

"What if I was getting, like, some sort of warning about my jailbait status? That'd just be a public service, right?"

Derek shook his head and tamped down on another smile. "Eighteen."

\-----

Thoughts about Stiles lingered through the day. Derek found himself idly designing bird cages that could be added to later on to change the meaning, which were oddly difficult to portray well. A group of college students on break came in to be obnoxious and loud, which was an obvious reminder. But he also thought about the hit-with-a-trout look on Stiles' face when he'd considered pregnancy and tattoos, when Cara had a consultation with a woman who wanted a tattoo around her bellybutton.

When he got home, Gwen came barreling out of the house to latch onto his legs, talking a mile a minute about what Stacia had done at school that day and about running with her mom and biting Jacob and...

It reminded him of Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta credit to my enigmatic roommate and [The Dormouse](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DormouseInTea), both of whom have been cheerleading (sometimes via threats) and pointing out where I could make the story better/more solid/more real/just more. I owe them so much it's ridiculous.
> 
> I just tend to show my love via teasing.
> 
>  ~~As a last note, please do let me know if you like my OCs. I'd love to add the tag awesome OCs to this fic, but I feel that's something the audience should judge, not the author.~~ So the comments have spoken, so the tag shall be.


	2. Getting To Know You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair to note here that I don't have a lot of practical experience with tattooing. I have a tattoo and have several friends with multiple tattoos, but otherwise all of my knowledge comes from the internet. The same thing goes for the behavior and learning styles of small children.

Derek wiped down his chair and retreated to the prep station behind the front wall to dispose of his materials and possibly run the faucet over his head for a minute or twenty. The three girls who were headed off to college with matching cherries on their ankles were still lingering at the register, laughing and flirting with Tony as they paid. Normally, Derek would have handled the exchange himself, but he'd needed to get away. His head was pounding and his nose was barely functioning anymore.

Perfectly nice girls, just three different body chemistries and three different, strongly applied perfumes. One of which was reacting badly with the scent of the girl wearing it. 

He was lingering over the sink, still thinking about dunking his head, when Tony said, "Can I help you?"

The giggling was disappearing out the door and Tony had stepped back on the flirting, so Derek tuned in to catch the conversation, though he wasn't expecting anything of interest.

"Yeah. Is the hot guy with no tattoos working today?" 

Stiles.

"The hot guy with no tattoos--" Tony sounded far too amused, and Derek hurried through disposing of his materials and stripping off his gloves. As soon as the gloves were gone he rubbed a hand firmly against his nose in lieu of the dunking he'd planned on. It didn't help much, but it was enough to get him moving.

"Yeah. He wouldn't give me his name. I'm Stiles, by the way."

"Tony." And Tony was definitely laughing, even as Derek came around the wall. He turned and jerked a thumb at Derek before moving his smile back to Stiles. "This lunk?"

Stiles looked a bit panicked around the eyes but nodded easily enough, if a bit too enthusiastically. Woody-sour again, with a shot of hot metal (and that had to be a heavy wave of scent if Derek was able to pick up on it at _all_ , considering the beating his nose had taken). "Yeeeeeah. Yeah. That guy."

Derek just raised an eyebrow at Stiles and braced a hip against the end of the counter the register was on, waiting. Tony, obviously, wasn't going anywhere. If they'd had a water cooler, he'd have been surgically attached to it. And it was technically his turn to be on register.

"...you're seriously not going to tell me your name?" 

"You should be able to figure it out."

That got a narrow eyed, determined look out of the boy, and his scent shifted, deepening and bringing back that peppery note. Derek tried to ignore the pleased rumble he was holding in as Stiles unthinkingly pushed back against a challenge. Again. "Okay. Fine. Be that way. In the meantime, I'll just have to keep calling you the...the hot guy with no tattoos." He almost managed to get through that without blushing. 

Derek shrugged, honestly not caring, and gave Tony a stern look for his choked off laugh.

"Best description of you ever, dude. Just. Ever," Tony said, grinning.

It didn't make Stiles' slight flush go away, but he did at least relax when he turned to grin at Tony and Derek--bit back a growl that wouldn't have passed very well for human.

Which didn't make any sense. Tony frequently set him on edge, with his maddeningly faint scent that was practically impossible to pick up in the shop and his tendency to flirt with just about everyone, including their very-married bosses, but it had never made Derek react like _this_ before.

Stiles bounced on his toes, oblivious to Derek's tension and continuing to grin at Tony. "I thought so! I'm glad I'm starting to learn names, though. I mean, before it was just hot guy without tattoos, hot guy with tattoos, pink haired hot lady and black haired hot lady. Now it's hot guy without tattoos, Tony, Cara, and the black haired hot lady. Of people I've seen so far, anyway."

"No, that's all of us." Tony leaned in over the counter, grinning. "Black haired hot lady is Vicky. She and Cara own the place." 

Stiles nodded, turning a grin back at Derek. "So. Derek?"

Derek nodded, smiling even while Tony choked on a laugh before stuttering out "Whoops, my bad. Where'd you get the name listing from?"

Stiles snorted, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the bookshelf where all the Tinge portfolios were kept, then gestured in front of himself at the desk. "The portfolios are one of the first things I looked at, and you left the schedule out. There's only four names on there. None of them are long, or that hard to read upside down. I just didn't know if Vic was Vicky or Victor or what." Stiles shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking smugly in place. "I mean, I figured Vic was black haired hot lady, but it's good to check."

"Touche." Tony sounded impressed as he slid the appointment book back under the register.

"Did you have an actual question, Stiles?" Derek cut in, still irritated with the attention Tony was getting, for some reason.

The kid's expression was too solemn and serious to be anything but an act, as he turned back toward Derek. "Do you think I'd look good with a skull dripping blood that turns into flowers on my arm?"

"Out." Derek stepped forward and gave Stiles a light push toward the door. "No tattoo until you're eighteen _and_ have better taste."

"Hey, you can't discriminate against me because of my taste!" He went easily enough though, and he smelled like he had the second time he'd seen Derek. Happy.

"Watch me."

\-----

Stiles became something of a shop mascot, after that. He wasn't there every day, but at least once a week Stiles could be found in their parlor after school let out. His scent started to permeate the place, earth mixing in with spice and metal, and the trace of ozone that Tony left behind, even though he didn't smell much of it himself.

The Tinge regulars got to know him. Vic and her phoenix even let him sit in the back with them for a while during their last two sessions. Cara practically adopted him as a baby brother and they often hunched together talking quietly on the guest benches on slow days, their scents blending into something strangely green. Tony helped him study for chemistry, since that was apparently what Tony was good at; art and chemistry.

Derek, Stiles apparently just wanted to torment with horrible tattoo ideas.

"What if I got a _door_."

Derek set his pencil aside and looked up at Stiles, where he was leafing idly through Tony's portfolio. Again. "A door."

"Yeah. A photo-realistic door, not something cartoony." Stiles flipped a page, frowning in concentration. He smelled intensely of honeysuckle, and it was harder than normal to gauge his moods because of it. "On my forehead."

"Out," Derek informed him, pointing at the real door.

\-----

Days off weren't, really. Derek had more down time at work than he did at home. There was always a meal to prepare for, repairs to be done, cleaning or weeding to do.

There were always children.

Derek taught Gwen and Jacob on his days off. They colored pictures that showed plants at different stages of growth, practiced math and counting, which Jacob didn't need but was apparently too boring for Gwen to do properly, and they tried to write.

Writing practice was broken up by random interludes of wandering outside to visit the garden or run through the woods, looking for the plants they'd colored earlier. Jacob still broke his pencils by gripping and pressing too hard, and Gwen was liable to shift and go a bit feral just to get out of it if the writing went on too long.

At about three they all heard Tania's--no, Danielle's car, coming up the drive. Derek kept forgetting his little sister had a car now, even if it was inherited.

The little terrors turned nearly identical pleading looks at him, but he huffed and turned their attention back to copying words. "They're half a mile out, still."

Gwen made a face at him and her forehead began shifting, but it relaxed again when he rubbed the back of her neck. "Here. What's this word?"

"House," she muttered, turning back to the paper.

"Finish writing that word and you can go out to wait for Stacia and Danielle," Derek said, looking over at Jacob's page. "And Jacob has to write his next two words, because they're short."

And because Jacob had an easier time with writing.

They finished their assigned words and ran out just as the car cleared the tree line. Gwen tackled Jacob into the grass ahead of the parking-line and they wrestled there while Danielle pulled into a gap. Stacia was fidgeting at the window, too well behaved to paw at it but obviously impatient to get out and play with her cousins.

Derek smiled when Stacia got the okay and shot out of the car, tumbling into Gwen and Jacob as though she was a wolf herself.

He snagged Stacia's bag out of the car for Danielle and closed the door. "Long drive?"

Danielle rolled her eyes. "I know how to spell plurals, now," she drawled out, "like 'oranges' and 'bees'. But not 'mouses', because that's weird."

The kids were still growling in a playful knot, mixing their scents and making Stacia smell like home again, so Derek held an arm out. Danielle burrowed in gratefully, shoving her nose against his armpit. "God, school was bad today."

"I can tell. Honeysuckle struck again." He rubbed his nose against her hair, looking for the scent of Danielle under the aggressive flowery perfume she'd picked up from a classmate, the hormones, the hairspray, Danielle's own light perfume. "Is she just randomly spraying the hall between classes? Sti..."

Cloth ripped nearby and Danielle turned to growl at the kids.

At first, Derek thought he was imagining things because he'd been remembering how Stiles had gotten hit by the same perfume the day before, but no. He could smell Stiles on Danielle.

Derek ducked his head down and sniffed. They'd brushed each other along most of her left arm.

"What are you smelling?'

He pulled away and blinked at Danielle, distantly registering the fact that the kids were running back into the house. Probably (hopefully) to clean up. "You brushed against someone I know today."

The look Danielle gave him implied heavily that he was more than a bit crazy. She sniffed intently at her own arm and made a face. "I don't know how you picked one person out of that. It smells to me like half the school rubbed up against me. Which...ugh."

She pretended to retch and turned to head inside, unselfconsciously stripping as she went.

\-----

"It's too bad you can't get a tattoo with googly eyes. Hey, Derek--"

"..."

"...you didn't shoot me down that time."

"It might be possible with a piercing or two."

"Okay. That's--alarming."

"And now it's in my head. _Out_."

\-----

Stiles slipped in while Derek was busy at the register, and Derek shot a frown in his direction while the customer was signing their receipt. He smiled as they left, because that's what he was paid to do, then reached across to the consultation area to drag a stool over to the end of his counter.

"Sit," he told Stiles, pointing at the stool.

"Wow. You have, like, no social skills." Stiles shook his head in an exaggerated manner but he scurried over to sit where he'd been told all the same. "I don't know why you're all grumpy. I hadn't even started talking yet."

Derek snorted and went back to recording the deposit and pertinent information (name _and_ design, because he and Vic remembered most of the clients by their tattoos). "Is there a reason you wait outside until I'm busy before coming in?'

"I don't do that!" Stiles squawked, sounding affronted. He smelled of sour-wood again, and his heart rate jittered. Derek stared until Stiles slumped against the counter, rolling his eyes. "All the time. Or, y'know, much."

"Just when it's me."

Stiles snorted, smiling down at the display for no apparent reason. "Hey, Vic scares me too."

But _Vic_ didn't make a habit of kicking him out. Derek reached over and poked Stiles in the middle of the forehead, remembering at the last moment to keep the touch human-light. "Stop it. I'm not going to shoo you until you hurt my brain, okay?"

Stiles leaned back, grimacing and rubbing his forehead, though he didn't seem to be in any real pain. "Ow. Okay." He grinned then, tilting his head so he could look at Derek without moving his hand. "You do realize you've admitted that I don't annoy you just by existing, right?"

"Not what I said." Derek rolled his eyes and turned to hide his smile, taking the moment to shuffle the appointment book away and pull out his sketchbook.

"You liiiiiiiiiike me," Stiles singsonged. He leaned forward against the counter, but he was looking at the jewelry again, not trying to pry into what Derek was working on (a tornado with a hairbow and an angry girl's eyes, because some clients loved incredibly obvious symbology).

Derek snorted but didn't respond otherwise. But Stiles rarely let the silences last long. "So. Winter break's coming up. For, y'know, holidays and...stuff. Do you guys have any sort of holiday scheduling weirdness or--"

"We only come in for appointments," Derek cut in, because he knew by now that Stiles would just. keep. going. if left to his own devices. Probably until he'd worked them through at least two different topics.

Stiles sagged a bit, turning his attention from the jewelry to Derek's face. "Hunh. Not a lot of people get tattoos around the holidays?"

"That, and we like to have breaks too."

And three quarters of the shop were related, which made scheduling around family events nearly impossible. (Not that anything would have been able to keep Vic away, the one time of year her brother came home.) It made any sort of routine scheduling hard.

"Guess that makes sense." Stiles shrugged and leaned back to examine the walls instead. "Still. It's going to be weird. I mean, the only other people I see as regularly as you guys are either associated with homework or chores."

Derek shrugged. "You'll live."

He turned his head down so Stiles wouldn't see his smile, while Stiles spluttered.

\-----

All Derek wanted for Christmas was a guaranteed way to make two hyper five year old werewolves shut up. _Reliably_.

He and his father were running Jacob and Gwen to tucker them out after Gwen scrunched her nose up at Dominique. Again. 

Keeping the secret of Dominique's pregnancy until Christmas Eve would have been a lot easier if the kids hadn't been old enough to remember Tania's scent changing because of Greg.

As it was, exhausting the kids and providing regular reminders that Paul wanted to tell his wife the good news himself on Christmas Eve was the best they could do.

Derek had just dodged to the right around a cluster of poplars to flank the kids when his father slowed and stopped. It was a relief that the kids were generally even more attuned to his parents' movements than he was, because they were already moving back toward his dad's position when Derek circled around to herd them there.

If his father had heard or smelled something significant enough to stop play over, they all needed to know. He had the most acute senses in the pack and a sense for danger that made him a perfect second to the alpha. Not that anyone thought his mom had actually been thinking about that, back in high school.

It didn't seem to be a matter of danger, though. His dad gave them a playful smile when they got close enough to see. "Laura's back. Race you home."

He took off on a straight path back to the house with the two cubs howling and yipping at his heels. Derek curved off to the side, angling to intersect the road rather than the house.

Cars were still faster than werewolves.

By the time Laura made it to him, Derek was walking casually down the middle of the road. She rolled her eyes at him through the windshield, but she'd slowed down and stopped instead of hitting him. Which was probably more about not wanting to hurt her car than him, but he'd take it.

Laura stuck her head out the window, eyebrows raised pointedly. "We are not waiting long enough for you to wiggle into the back seat, bro."

Derek shrugged and pulled a laughing Edward out of the passenger seat anyway. "Wouldn't dream of it," he lied, burying his face in Edward's neck. Ugh, airport. Ugh, Germany. "Damn you stink."

"Thanks, cuz." Edward punched his shoulder, having long since learned that smacking a werewolf's head would only hurt _him_. "I'll start smelling right _faster_ if you let me get to the house and shower before being piled on, you know."

"Hmph." Derek let Edward go, sliding into the passenger seat himself and pulling Edward into his lap before closing the door. "Okay, fine."

Edward flailed a bit but settled down, laughing while Laura groaned and got them moving again.

"Oh my god, little brother, you're going to make Edward smell like your _secret boyfriend_. I really don't need that."

Derek growled, even while settling in with his feet braced against the floor and his arms locked firmly around Edward's waist. It wasn't as safe as a seatbelt, but it was good enough with Laura's insanely cautious driving. "He's _not_ a boyfriend. He goes to school with Danielle, for--" Derek bit off a curse, opting instead to growl again. He could hear the excited yips of the kids at the house already, and he didn't want to give Tania a reason to glare.

"Sure. Whatever." Laura shook her head with a pointed sigh.

"Man I've missed you guys," Edward said, letting his head fall back and bumping his cheek against Derek's.

"So finish your degree and _come home_ already." Laura groused, reaching over to ruffle Edward's hair.

He really did stink. It was horrible.

\-----

It wasn't until Vic and Cara had arrived and joined the cuddle-pile everyone was rotating through (except Edward, who was stuck in the middle until he stopped smelling weird) that Laura found him again.

"Okay, so he's a Tinge-groupie not a boyfriend," she sniffed, bumping shoulders with him. "And he really is just a kid. So what are you guys doing, letting a kid hang out so much at a tattoo parlor?"

Derek rolled his eyes. "He just likes to watch."

Laura stared at him for a long moment.

"You need to think about what you just said, little brother, and all the ways it proves that I'm right about you being a horrible corrupting influence."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to my mysterious roommate and [The Dormouse](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DormouseInTea), for the dedicated cheerleading/threats, beta reading, and harassment to add more Hales. Any remaining mistakes are my own, sometimes at my stubborn insistence.
> 
> But if you get tired of the Hales then it's my roommate's fault.


	3. Change is in the Air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly longer chapter this week, and an apology. Some bits are a bit rougher than normal, because an epiphany resulted in a few new segments being added over the last few days. Any suckage is entirely mine, as my beloved betas put in heroic effort with the time available.
> 
> As usual, all my knowledge is from the internet. I have probably gotten many, _many_ things wrong, but I tried.

The next time Stiles' scent flowed through the door around the noise of the overhead bell, Derek was ringing someone up. Again. Derek glanced over as the customer bent to sign their receipt, but Stiles just rolled his eyes and gave a helpless shrug. He knew better than to interrupt and instead wandered over to the bookshelf to grab a portfolio to peruse while he waited.

Derek thanked the customer and didn't let the smile drop until they left.

"That was not my fault," Stiles stated, as soon as the door closed. "That was the universe thinking we're funny."

Derek snorted but turned his head down rather than engaging with Stiles. Vic was picky about the transaction record, oddly enough, and Stiles was a distraction at the best of times.

But Stiles waited quietly, or as quietly as he could, at least. He rocked back and forth on his feet in front of the bookshelf, fingertips drumming quietly on the binder he was holding, soft steps shuffling him toward the window. 

And he was just tracking Stiles by sound, instead of sight. Derek set his pencil aside and looked up. Stiles had Cara's portfolio propped open and was frowning thoughtfully at the ghouls staring up from the page. "Y'know, by appearances, I would have thought that Cara was the go-to for all the delicate stuff you guys are apparently known for."

"Not uncommon."

Stiles bobbed agreement. Which was really the only way to describe it, when he decided to nod with his entire body, knees to head. He mostly matched time with the radio station Tony had chosen for the day's music, which was a little surprising and possibly entirely accidental. "Did Vic do her arm? Er, the right arm, anyway. Those lilies. They aren't in Vic's portfolio, but..."

"Yes," Derek cut him off, turning back to the transaction register. But, no, he'd finished that already. "Vic did the lilies, and added the butterflies to her neck piece."

It wouldn't hurt to double check the commission receipts and make sure they were stacked neatly.

"And I know Tony did the fish on her foot. It's in his portfolio."

Not many people caught that. The fish wasn't always visible, and it was subdued by comparison to the rest of her ink. All impressionistic brushes of color with only a few thin lines to imply the overall shape.

Stiles collapsed onto the bench by the window, squirming into his usual slouch and thumping his head against one of the display legs, despite months of practice at the maneuver. The practice seemed to have just made him very _good_ at hitting the legs, and moderately successful at catching and righting them again after. "What about you? Have you done one for her?" 

Derek fussed with the receipts, though they really didn't need it. Well, _now_ they did, because he'd completely fucked up the order trying to avoid staring at Stiles. "Not yet."

"What about Vic and Tony?"

"No." Derek quirked an eyebrow pointedly at Stiles. His scent was souring, but without the woody note that suggested embarrassment. Slightly sweet with a touch of metal, but it was so faint... "Why?"

Stiles shrugged, holding his hands out like it wasn't anything major. Which inevitably meant it was. That he _had_ a reason, regardless of what came out of his mouth. "Just curious."

"Stiles."

"What?"

"Spit it out."

His scent spiked, the metal growing more intense, and he slumped against the window while rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. "I was just curious! I mean, you like them. You aren't nearly as nice to them as you are to the customers." 

Derek snorted. Like that made any sense.

"And I was kind of curious. I mean. About the kind of tattoo you're willing to do for someone you--you know. Actually _like_."

Damn the kid for being perceptive. "Any kind they want, that I'd be good at. So long as they actually wanted it." And if his voice was rougher than normal, that was really nobody's business.

Stiles gaped at him, gesturing broadly then snatching his hands back when that made Cara's portfolio flap alarmingly. "So you only tell people you _dis_ like that their ideas suck?"

Derek snorted, unable to completely hide his amusement, and Stiles' scent mellowed to something happier, though still obnoxiously difficult to pin down. "Hardly. If I don't like them, they can get as stupid a tattoo as they want."

"Then why do you shoot down all of my ideas?"

Derek shook his head and gave Stiles a pointed look. "Are you seriously going to try and say you want a door on your forehead, or a skull bleeding flowers?" Stiles' eyes widened. "Or mermaids having sex, or a cupcake on your ass, or a parrot with an eye patch, or..."

Stiles' eyes kept getting wider until he finally burst out laughing, _happy_ pouring off him in waves. "Oh my god," he said, beaming. "I can't believe you remember all of that."

"You like to scar me mentally, Stiles. It's hard to forget."

The indignant expression on Stiles' face was worth whatever insanity was bound to come out of his mouth next, but the bell over the door rang, interrupting them.

"Hola!" Cara was practically bouncing as she came in, unzipping her coat and leaning down to press a loud, overblown kiss into Stiles' hair. Stiles tried to fend her off, but his flailing was pretty ineffective even at the best of times, and Cara was... Well, Cara was Cara. It didn't help that Stiles didn't actually mind all the touching and was just trying to preserve some semblance of dignity. "What were you two talking about? The flailing looked amusing."

Derek snorted and went back to the receipts to hide his smile. It was...nice, the way their scents went green when they were together. "Tattoos."

"Oh, _enlightening_."

The dry, teasing sarcasm was one of the many reasons why Cara was his favorite. Of his coworkers, at least.

"Uh, well, we were talking about your tattoos, actually. I mean, the ones on you, not the--you know." He waved her portfolio vaguely.

That tendency to babble and the easy way he shared information about himself and, occasionally, about Derek, was why Stiles was Cara's favorite. Probably. That might be secondary to how easily he'd adapted to her very handsy, hug-centered way of showing affection.

Cara grinned at Stiles and snatched the portfolio out of his hands, putting it back on the shelf before plopping down on the bench next to him. "Oh? No fair stopping when I come in, then."

"Well, you have the fish from Tony," Stiles started, ticking off on his fingers, "and I thought the lilies looked like Vic's work, so I asked if she'd done those." Cara nodded, waiting patiently for Stiles to get through his thought process. "And I asked if you had one from Derek yet."

"Not yet. We're on for what, next Thursday?" She looked up at Derek. "Unless that damn swirly bit is going to set us back." _Again_ , her tone implied.

Derek sighed and shook his head. "No. I think I'm happy with it. I just wanted to give it another day to make sure before getting your approval on it."

Cara shot her arms up in the air in a victory pose, nearly unsettling Stiles before she grabbed hold of him again, grinning excitedly. The display of teeth so close to Stiles' neck made him want to growl, which didn't make any sense. Cara was family.

Also? _Human_.

"Hey, you wanna be here for that?" Cara offered. "I like having someone around to talk to, and Derek kinda sucks at that."

She turned to stick her tongue out at him, but her scent hadn't changed, so Derek just raised an eyebrow in response. Unless she'd been irritated the entire time, she was just playing.

"Uh, sure?" Stiles blinked. "Oh, wait. When? I mean, I can't come during school and if it's gonna be more than an hour, I'll have to make sure my dad knows where I'm gonna be."

"Yeah, yeah, jailbait," Cara ruffled his hair (as much as she could), spiking their shared scent with soft spices. "We'll start before you get here, but if you drop by after school we should be getting to the interesting bits."

Derek was just opening the register up to put the re-re-sorted receipts away when Stiles went still, eyes tracking suspiciously to Cara's face without turning. "And by 'interesting bits', you mean..?"

She laughed. "The shading and coloring. No more surprises about genital tattoos, I promise."

Derek didn't quite rip the register drawer out, but it was a near thing.

\-----

Laura draped herself over the back of the couch and his shoulders that evening, snuffling against his neck. "Cara and Vic coming over tonight?"

"You know they are." Derek closed his book and gave Laura a moment to take the hint, then hit her over the head with it. But Laura just huffed and burrowed closer. "Did you want something, Laura?"

"You smell like that kid. And Vic smells like him, and Cara smells like him, and your shop smells like him." Laura sighed and hopped up onto the back of the couch before slipping down between him and the cushions to curl around him entirely. "It's not a pack smell but it is a pack smell and _argh_ , little brother."

She punched him in the thigh hard enough that the bruise would last a few minutes before huffing and settling down so he could go back to reading.

Across the room, Uncle Paul snorted agreement but kept his nose buried in a seed catalog.

\-----

Cara approved the final design and stole it from him to make the transfers before he could come up with any reason it wasn't good enough yet. 

Again.

It was perfectly reasonable to be nervous about the first tattoo he'd designed for family. For someone he loved, blood relation or not. 

Maybe taking a week to adjust a curl in the gate that Cara hadn't had any problems with was excessive, though.

\-----

When he arrived on Wednesday, Stiles was already there. Tony had his watercolors out at the consultation counter, but Derek could still smell Stiles over the sweet-sharp of the wet paints. There was a note of sour musk in his scent which, combined with the strangely (for Stiles) even and calm heartbeat, implied he was curled up on the bench with homework. An assignment to be read, specifically. Anything else and his heartrate would be higher.

It made sense. Tony was almost as touchy about letting people watch him sketch as Derek was, and he was _worse_ when he was working in paint.

Derek didn't announce himself, opting to change quickly and quietly from running clothes to working clothes. Even if that did mostly consist of trading one t-shirt for another, exercise pants for jeans, and sneakers for his ancient, ugly and thoroughly reliable boots. It was the principle of the thing.

He caught a glimpse of what Tony was working on as he walked past the counter to the register; a portrait from a photo, that Tony was rendering in varying severities of grey. It gave the impression of a face made out of shadows, and Derek ripped his attention away, unsettled.

No bets on why someone would want a design like that. It practically screamed _in memoriam_.

Stiles didn't look up until Derek was halfway across the lobby, too involved in glaring at his book to take note of the movement. When he did, the crease in his forehead retreated in the wake of a smile that spread almost like instinct over Stiles' face. His scent did the same abrupt change, spiking so suddenly and overwhelmingly to _happy_ that it made Derek's breath catch.

"Hey. About time you got here." Stiles shifted around to sit upright, glancing at the space that left on the bench and back up to Derek with a look that twitched through being hopeful, mortified, and innocent.

Derek snorted, but he took the seat next to Stiles anyway. "I'm early." He ignored Stiles' huff about that not being the point, reaching down and lifting Stiles' hand, complete with book, to see what he was reading. "Moby Dick?"

"We got to pick from a list of 'classics' to read for English," he complained, air quoting with his one available hand. "I didn't think someone could make probable insanity, giant whales, and vendettas boring, but I was _wrong_ ," Stiles groaned, slumping back to thump his head against the non-existant wall. Derek let Stiles' hand drop in favor of reaching up to stop him from knocking a display leg over. 

It left him with his hand cupped around the back of Stiles' head, but that was apparently the price of an orderly environment. 

"Would your other options have been any better?"

"Apparently not," Stiles laughed, lifting his head up to smile at Derek who slowly pulled his hand back to rub against his thigh. His palm felt...weird. Probably because of Stiles' buzz cut. " _Apparently_ ," Stiles continued, either not noticing Derek's movement or not finding it remarkable, "they managed to make adultery, murder, and war boring."

Derek blinked, his lip quirking up without his input. "You picked vendettas and whales over adultery, murder, and war as likely to be interesting?"

"Well, _yeah_." Stiles rolled his eyes. "It takes work to make a violent whale boring. Adultery and murder can just be about stuff that happens off screen, or off page, I guess, and the actual focus is on the relationships. And trust me, I get way too much relationship drama in my day to day. I don't need it in my homework too."

"Mhmm. And war?"

"Hemmingway and I have a troubled relationship. Let's just leave it at that, okay?"

Derek snorted and leaned forward, shifting his weight in preparation of standing. He had to check the schedule and appointment book to see if Tony had left any notes or scheduled anything into his shift, double check the supplies, and make sure everything that needed to be clean actually was. He hesitated when Stiles tensed, his fingers starting to drum on the cover of the book.

"What."

Stiles rolled his eyes again, but he relaxed and took a breath. "I just-- Do you mind me watching, tomorrow? I mean, Cara invited me and you _know_ I'm curious, but I don't want to be here if it's just gonna bug you, or--"

"It's fine." Derek raised his hand to brush over Stiles' head again, then stood up.

Interestingly, that shut Stiles right up. He gaped for a moment, blushing a little while a twist of something dark curled through his scent, before giving a strained laugh. "Okay. Yeah, great. So, tomorrow, then." Stiles shoved the book into his bag and stood up, starting for the door. "Time to go home, though. Now. Because that's--what I do. So, yeah. Bye!"

The door swung closed behind Stiles, leaving Derek blinking after him in confusion.

"You two are hysterical. I hope you know that." Tony hadn't looked up from his painting once, but he was smiling now.

Derek decided not to dignify that with a response.

\-----

"Oh _wow_."

Derek's brow twitched at Vic's delighted tone and the following laughter, but he kept his focus on the line machine and Cara's back.

"I don't wanna know," Cara muttered, hazy and muffled by the headrest her face was smushed against. Derek grunted agreement as Vic hiccuped to a stop.

The bell rang, and Vic crowed "The mascot is in da house!" in that same far-too-gleeful tone. It didn't bode well for anyone.

But. At the same time. Stiles.

Derek didn't look up from his work, but he smiled. He didn't need to see anything to know that Stiles was rolling his eyes at Vic, who hated manning the register but was as possessive of her mate as any wolf would have been. She couldn't stand watching someone else work on Cara, but she refused to be very far away while it happened, either.

"Thanks, Vic. That makes me feel very mature," Stiles grumbled. "Can I go on back?"

"You're asking permission now? Since when?" Vic snorted, amused and teasing the way she only was with family and close friends. "You have your invitation already, so git."

"I always ask permission!" Stiles huffed as he walked past the counter, trailing the pepper-sweet combination that Vic seemed to inspire in him and waving at Derek. And.

The universe hated him. It was a fact.

Stiles passed straight through to the back to drop his backpack off where it'd be out of the way. Derek could only hope he'd ditch the red hoodie as well. It was warm enough for it.

"Finally! My gabby savior has come at last," Cara mumbled into the chair, and Derek had to keep himself from smiling wide enough to show teeth. 

When he set the line machine down and started wiping the excess green off her back she picked her head up and looked around. "...Only then he abandoned me," she complained, this time clearly enough for human ears to work out, "before I got to see him, even. Is Stiles robbing us? Oh, there he is. Stiles!" 

She reached out, grinning as the kid snagged Vic's wheely stool and sat down by her shoulder to take her hand. He was hoodie free, thankfully. 

"I'm not sure how I survived without you," Cara confided. "Derek's said, like, twelve words."

Derek snorted. Cara was having far too much fun complaining about him to thwart her enjoyment.

"Well, you did know what you were getting into when you decided on this. Which...man." Stiles eyes widened as he looked over the outline sketched in over Cara's lower back. "Hate to say it, but I think you're getting your frustration's worth. That's amazing."

Derek snorted and moved back into position. "Shading now."

He turned the shading machine on and ignored Cara's yelp and laughing complaint about his horrible chair-side manner as he went back to focusing on the details.

Tattooing Cara was an oddly surreal experience; the metallic notes of her normal scent almost disappeared entirely into the smell of the ink. It was like the body he was working on had stopped being Cara and became a blank stranger instead. With Stiles there, the greening-effect they had on one another helped distinguish her a bit more. It became easier to gauge how her pain was building and when the endorphins kicked in.

Derek knew better than to try and keep track of Cara and Stiles' conversation, while he worked. From what he couldn't avoid picking up, they'd covered 80's song lyrics, giant squid, bizarre history facts, different tattooing traditions, and whether or not placement alone qualified the gate he was giving Cara as a tramp stamp. Stiles was skeptical, Vic (shouting her opinion back from the register) was adamant that it didn't, and Cara was on the verge of pouting over being majority voted out of what she called an 'important cultural movement'.

Once the bars were finished, he turned the machine off and tapped Cara's back with a knuckle. "Switching to colors. Want a break?"

"Yeah," she groaned, stretching out a bit as he wiped her back clean and gave it a new coating of ointment. "Can I get a glass of water?"

Derek caught Stiles' eyes before rolling his own as he stripped his gloves off and got up to fetch a cup. "Stiles, make sure she doesn't get up."

"...how exactly am I supposed to do that?" Stiles complained, before addressing Cara teasingly. "Sit. Stay."

Cara was making silly faces at Stiles when Derek returned with the water, but she hadn't done more than stretch her arms up and twist to bend the kinks out of her back. It said something about their relationship that Stiles didn't seem to bat an eye at Cara's _very_ ample chest being constrained by a sports bra and nothing else.

While Cara drank, Derek pulled on another pair of gloves and started adjusting his work area for the next round. Stiles took the time to get a better look at Cara's back, then grinned at the caps of ink Derek was pulling out. "So those little blank spots are going to be pink flowers? Man, leave it to Cara to make a metal fence girly."

"Flowers and ribbons, if you must know," Cara said primly as she set her empty cup down and moved back into position. "My mom's a breast cancer survivor and my sister was diagnosed a couple of months ago." She shrugged, comfortable with moving so long as the machine wasn't turned on. "I decided I needed this."

Derek spread more ointment over Cara's back, thickening the coating he'd left on her skin before. "Can I get back to work now?"

"Bring it."

For several moments, there was just the sound of the machine as he inked the lines in a darker pink to give the flowers and ribbons a lighter, more organic touch than the bars and vines had. Cara was humming along with the Best of the 80's mix she'd insisted on for their session, content without words for the moment apparently, which...left Stiles doing what, exactly?

Derek glanced up when he'd finished one trailing ribbon and caught Stiles staring with such blank solemnity that he didn't seem like himself for a moment. 

Then Stiles noticed Derek and the moment broke with a smile that was waiting to become real. Stiles squeezed Cara's hand, turning his attention more fully toward her. "So, what's your sister like?"

And Cara was off again, babbling about the confusing little knot of drama that she called a family. Derek focused on his work again, letting their voices and the stereo fill the space in his head that wasn't turned over to the ink.

Or he tried, at least. That oddly serious look on Stiles' face kept coming back to haunt him.

\-----

The problem with Cara, Vic had told him, was that she got more than a little high off the whole process. 

Cara giggled and reached up to tug Stiles' hood into place, then down over his eyes. "You're Red Riding Hood! Oh my goodness, that's so..." And she collapsed forward against his chest.

For his part, Stiles looked baffled but amused as he patted Cara on the shoulder with one hand while he pushed his hood back with the other. "Uh. Thanks?"

He shot Derek a confused look while Vic succumbed to laughter at the front desk. Again.

"It's a family joke," Derek offered, which didn't seem to placate Stiles at all. "You should get going before Cara decides you're her cuddle buddy."

Cara snorted against Stiles' chest, but didn't protest when he pushed her upright again. "Would not. He's underage. And besides, he has a dick!"

Stiles flushed and waved to Derek as he scurried toward the door. 

Without Stiles to distract her, Cara flopped forward onto the padded table Derek had helped her over to and started singing to herself. Which kept her occupied and out of the way, at least.

Shaking his head, Derek went back to cleaning up his area. He wasn't left waiting long before Vic made her way back, smiling fondly at her mate. And that had to be love, because Cara was kind of a wreck.

"Sooooo..." Vic started, leaning her shoulder against his.

"No."

Vic cackled, turning her head away. "Oh, man. The jokes are going to _write themselves_ , cuz. Wait 'til I tell Laura."

Derek sighed and pushed at her cheek until she went away and let him finish cleaning up.

\-----

Stiles didn't come in at all the next week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone confused or curious about a tattoo artist using painting techniques for particular looks, or about the more impressionistic tattoo designs mentioned here, I recommend checking out [Amanda Wachob's skin gallery](http://www.amandawachob.com/gallery/skin/). I also recommend it because her work is simply lovely.


	4. absence makes the wolf grow odder

"Derek. Why are people stupid?"

Derek snorted and turned to look at Vic, who'd decided the blank section of counter he'd left empty to do an inventory re-evaluation on was actually for her.

Not that he could easily sort the inks with her that close anyway. Vic's scent played merry hell with them at this proximity, and it'd take forever if he actually had to read each bottle instead of being able to generalize by smell.

Vic cocked her head to one side in a move that, human or not, betrayed what sort of family she'd grown up in, for anyone who knew what to look for. "Someone came in while you were on break. He wants something tribal. Really big and intricate with metaphorical meaning and probably a whole bunch of other shit that was meant to impress me, but definitely tribal. He likes the look of solid blacks and twisty lines."

"And?"

"He wanted me to do it. Because, and I quote, 'You're hot.'" She paused, to allow Derek to appreciate her irritation. The obnoxiously pop-y radio station she'd switched to suddenly made more sense. "I asked if he'd seen the shop portfolios, and he shrugged and asked if it mattered."

They got this, every so often. Or, more specifically, Vic and Cara got this. Derek made a 'go on' gesture, leaning against the counter to wait. He wasn't going to get any work done until Vic had gotten to her point.

"I told him he'd be better off with another artist, since I'm really not that great at designing tribal pieces. But! I told him I'd help him out by setting up a consultation with our _hottest_ brunette, who happens to do the best tribal work anyway."

Tony was far enough out of earshot that Derek didn't hold back the growl. " _Vicky_."

"Respect your elder, puppy." Vic ruffled his hair and hopped down off the counter. "The consultation is next Wednesday, and I was nice enough to match it up with Stiles' consult, so you won't miss any mascot time. And for your sake, I'm hoping Mr. Idiot's not bi. 'Cause then I'd feel guilty. A little. Maybe."

Derek forgot about the ink and the prospect of an angry asshole of a client entirely. "Stiles has a consultation?" 

That hadn't been on his schedule.

It wasn't on _his_ schedule. What the hell.

"Yeah, with Cara. He came in yesterday to talk with her and make the appointment." Vic studied her nails calmly but pointedly, and Derek checked his own just in case. But no, still human.

Stiles came in on one of his days off (and Stiles knew their schedules almost as well as they did at this point), after over a week of absence, and booked a consultation. With someone else.

"We shouldn't even be letting him have a consultation," Derek groused. "He's what, fifteen?"

Vic was grinning now, face angled away so her teeth weren't bared at him, scent mellowed into amusement. "Actually, he turned seventeen a couple months back." Her lips closed over her teeth as she turned back to him, nodding sympathetically at whatever look was on his face. "Yeah, I know. I wouldn't have guessed it either."

"He still isn't old enough to get a tattoo," Derek said, rather than asking his second cousin if she knew what day Stiles' birthday had been.

She just shrugged. "Yeeeah, but there's no law about him making _arrangements_ in advance. And Cara and I had already decided we're going to comp the mascot on the deposits at least, so there won't even be any money exchanged."

Derek growled again, and Vic patted his shoulder sympathetically as she left. Probably to laugh at him in the bathroom. 

In fairness, it probably shouldn't be this surprising. Stiles rarely looked at Derek's portfolio, but he pored over Vic's and Cara's whenever he was stuck up front with no one more talkative than...well, Derek.

It still bothered him.

\-----

The whole-- _thing_ with Stiles had him distracted. That was his story, and he was sticking to it.

Derek's breath left him in an abrupt wheeze, and he was fairly sure he'd cracked a rib on his own boots when his bag had gotten caught underneath him. He shifted as soon as he recognized Danielle's scent and pushed back against the attack. 

Play. 

Attack, play. There wasn't that much difference in their family, unless their mother was involved.

Danielle had surprise, but Derek had weight and age. He came out on top, snarling until Danielle whuffed affection against his temple and dropped her head back to expose her throat. His ribs were still healing but he'd probably broken her arm, so they were about even for damage. He snorted and bumped his nose against her jaw before backing off, but didn't bother shifting back to human. "Bad day?"

"Gwen had a fit," was Danielle's only response, her voice abnormally blank. She didn't try to get up or change position, just laid vulnerable and open and defeated on her back.

Derek shoved at Danielle's shoulder until she was lying on her side, curled protectively around her abdomen. He pressed the ridge of his nose against the indent of her waist and inhaled the lingering traces of 'unhappy' over the stronger scents of 'Danielle' and 'family' before he made up his mind. "Let me drop off my bag. We'll go running."

He didn't worry as he took off into the woods again, and he didn't have to. When he came back (minus bag, shoes and shirt), Danielle was where he'd left her, but her pulse was slower and her breathing more even. She rolled up onto her hands and feet as he approached, and they ran.

\-----

They ran until they felt their mother's will set against their own, calling them back. Calling them home.

They sat together at dinner, still half immersed in their wolves and caring for nothing except the sense of family, of safety, of wholeness. Human enough for manners, wolf enough to exist fully in the now. Gwen was between the stabilizing forces of her parents and everyone else was healthy and fine. They felt no need for words, only for security. For pack.

\-----

Someone approached. Threat-but-not-threat. Family. Pack.

"Now you smell wrong."

Even half asleep, Derek sighed. He let his brain wake by degrees, slowly sliding back into the human space, where words made reality instead of scent and sound. "What."

"You smell wrong." And now he knew the voice. Laura. The smell of her made sense before her image did, with her nose scrunched up and the impression that her ears should be laid flat. "Like sadness and not enough like high school, and for goodness sake, Derek," she made a face at him that he recognized as horrified, after a moment, " _no one should have to smell like high school_. That's just _wrong_."

He glowered at her and buried his face against Danielle's shoulder again, taking comfort in her sleepy rumble.

Danielle reeked of high school and he'd spent the entire afternoon with her, so Laura was full of crap.

\-----

Sleep was a myth, and had been for six years.

He dreamed of fire. Of Gwendolyn never being born. Of Dominique losing her mate before learning the term. Before learning the word 'werewolf' outside of fiction.

He dreamed of blond curls and a smiling mouth that left him waking in a cold sweat every time.

The end result was that he didn't dream much at all. The nightmares kept him awake, before they had a chance to haunt him.

That night, however, there were no traces of ash or teeth in his thoughts. He still spent more time exercising than sleeping, but it wasn't out of fear.

It made no sense. It shouldn't have mattered. But.

Stiles would be eighteen in less than a year, and he didn't know _when_.

Stiles hadn't told him.

It shouldn't have mattered. His life didn't follow 'should's very often.

\-----

Idiot asshole client didn't seem to be bi and had more of a sense of humor about Vic's little prank than was reasonable to have expected, which was a relief. And the work he wanted was interesting, if under-researched. Considering the comment he'd made about not seeing the point of perusing the portfolios, 'under-researched' was far better than Derek had been hoping for.

They'd be able to work together and the client didn't murder his scent or surroundings with cologne. Those were the important bits.

Stiles' consultation, on the other hand, happened in the coffee shop across the street. Because Cara was both insufferable and lived to torment Derek, who had a clear view of their table (and Stiles, in that red hoodie again) past his client's shoulder.

He'd forgotten all the reasons why Cara was his favorite. It was like they no longer existed.

Derek watched them once his own appointment was over, pretending to be involved in sketching which, to be fair, the consulting counter was ideally suited for. Their discussion involved laughter and flailing gestures that nearly upset their drinks, but there was a sketchbook between them that both of them were working in. It lasted far longer than it should have, stretching past an hour before they finally got up.

And when they were done, Stiles hugged Cara on the sidewalk and...left.

Cara's breath smelled of espresso and sugar with no milk, but there were traces of milk and chocolate on her hands and sleeve. 

\-----

Laura stopped by that evening to pick Cara and Vic up for a girls' night out. (One of the advantages of marrying into a family of werewolves, Cara had told him, was that they never had to worry about alienating their designated driver.) She took in the parlor with one inhale and a glance at Derek before grinning. "Awwwww...is somebody feeling left out?"

Derek glared and didn't bother responding, because his sister. was. _impossible_.

"Hey Laura! We'll be out in a sec," Vic called from the back, failing entirely in her familial obligation to rescue Derek and Laura from ever being left alone together.

"No rush," Laura called back, because she was evil, then walked around the counter to press against Derek's side. "Closing on your own?"

Derek nodded and leaned in to meet her weight. Because his sister was impossible. "No appointments, store's already mostly clean. It's two hours of sketching and maybe glaring at drunk idiots."

"Hmm. Suddenly I'm jealous of your night." She shoved against his shoulder, lightly for them, and set them rocking a bit. "Only I get to intimidate drunk people too so--yeah, never mind."

They were quiet for a moment, swaying loosely to the rhythm of jazz from a pub down the street, since it was Derek's turn on music and the stereo had been turned _off_ once the last appointment was over.

But of course, the quiet could never last.

"You still smell atrocious, little brother," Laura huffed, eventually. "But I can smell Little Red again, so. Seriously. What the hell. Did somebody stab your pet fish?"

"I don't have... Who would _stab fish_?" 

Stiles came immediately to mind. Not as someone likely to stab fish, but because the visual was so random his brain immediately pulled it up as a Stiles-inspired tattoo. Derek was officially insane.

"Oh my god, and now you smell even _sadder_." Laura straightened abruptly, wrapping an arm around his neck and pretending to bite his head. A couple walking on the opposite side of the street slowed down briefly to stare, then hurried quickly past. This was Derek's life now. 

"How does fish stabbing make you sad," she muttered around his hair, "it was supposed to be funny."

Derek ignored her as best he could. Because his sister was impossible.

\-----

More and more of Danielle's classmates started turning eighteen, as the end of the school year began to loom. Which meant a flood of teenagers wanting to define themselves, or rebel, or celebrate, or whatever. Derek honestly didn't care.

What he did care about was how many of them wanted to just come in, pick a design off the wall, and walk out an hour or so later with a tattoo. And how many of them had no concept of what kind of cost they were looking at.

A lot of them walked out cringing or determined, at the cost. A lot more walked out in a huff when someone explained that they could make an appointment, but wouldn't be seen right away.

More than he would have expected actually had ideas, or questions about how the art worked and if they could get something original done. He had a commission for a chicory-inspired leg piece that he was actually looking forward to. 

If only the brats would back off and let him draw. 

Derek saw Stiles outside the shop sometimes, hands shoved deep in his hoodie's pockets and frowning at the gawkers. He didn't usually stay long, but he sometimes waited until he'd caught Derek's eye, gave a little wave or a helpless shrug.

And Derek had thought he couldn't like obnoxious, self-entitled teenagers any _less_.

\-----

Derek and Paul had been tag-teaming Gwen for hours, taking turns between acting as prey for her to track and sitting with Jacob while he worked on controlling his shift better. It was something Gwen was supposed to be working on as well, but she was too hyper to sit still and her fidgeting and whining hadn't been helping Jacob. At all.

The only one of them with any energy left at all when they came back to the house was Jacob, but Gwen still managed to perk up as Paul carried her inside, twisting around to scan the room. "Mommy?"

Sighing, Paul jiggled Gwen a bit, trying to change her focus. "Smells like your mom's with your big brother, kiddo. Do you want a..."

"I _want_ my _Mommy_ ," she yelled, trying to wriggle out of Paul's grip. "Matt _had_ his turn!"

Derek winced at the growl he could hear from upstairs. Not angry, just...resigned.

He hadn't known they could growl in resignation until Tania and Gwen.

Jacob whined and scampered for the stairs, rushing ahead of Derek on his way up to Matt's room. Derek smiled apologetically at Tania at the top of the stairs. She looked as exhausted as he felt, and still smelled strongly of the hospital. 

She smiled back, but the expression was barely there.

When Derek caught up, Jacob and Matt were already curled up in a ball on the bed. The room smelled like Matt's misery, dried tears, and Tania, worn thin and exhausted and covered in hospital.

Derek joined them anyway, and they stayed like that until dinner.

\-----

Stiles was either actively avoiding Derek, had the world's worst timing, or the universe was conspiring against him. Derek, not Stiles. Because Stiles didn't seem to notice that every time he came in while Derek was working, Derek was stuck in the back with a client. 

Every. Single. Time.

It shouldn't have mattered. Stiles was still around, and Derek could follow his rambling almost as easily from the back as he could when they were sitting side by side. Not that they did that, often. Or more than the once, actually. So it shouldn't have mattered. Derek wasn't a huge participant in their conversations anyway, so it was practically the same, right?

Besides, it had only been two weeks since Cara had gotten her tattoo. Two weeks since he'd really seen Stiles.

Derek exhaled slowly through his nose and forced himself to concentrate on his lines while Stiles called back a goodbye and left.

\-----

Laura stopped teasing him.

For his family, that was one step short of his mother staging an intervention by chasing him around the preserve until he collapsed.

It said something that he wasn't sure which would be more effort; pretending to be in a better mood or an enforced run.

\-----

When Stiles came through the door, grinning and bouncing with giddy energy entirely at odds with the light but steady rain outside, Derek was surprised enough to freeze. He barely recovered in time to flip his sketchbook closed before Stiles was leaning against the end of the counter.

Stiles had never tried to peek at Derek's sketches, so far as he knew, but it would be a bit awkward if he _did_ and recognized his own hands on the paper. 

It wasn't Derek's fault that Stiles had the perfect hands for a design a pianist had commissioned. But still. _Awkward_.

"Heeey," Stiles started, leaning forward until his shoulders were only a few inches from the top of the counter then rocking back to brace his elbows like a normal person. Normal-er person. "Hi. Long time no see. Like, seriously, we are not counting waving from the back, here. I don't mean seeing as in, y'know, _registering your visual aspect_ because that is totally insufficient. I just--" He stopped briefly to breathe before exploding again, " _Please_ tell me you still don't have any appointments today."

Derek blinked, trying to process the too-fast words and everything else Stiles had brought with him. He was short of breath and even for Stiles' above-normal baseline, his pulse was racing. He was flushed, but the uneven splotchiness suggested exertion more than embarrassment. So he'd been running.

That made sense, with the rain.

He was also wearing that damn red hoodie again. It wasn't soaked through, but the shoulders were heavily spotted. So was the sleeve he'd just used to dry his face.

"No," Derek started, and tried to force himself to relax even as Stiles seemed to be trying to vibrate his way through the counter. "No appointments today."

Stiles exhaled loudly and slumped against the counter before straightening up and moving to snag a stool. "Fuck. Finally. You have been obnoxiously popular, dude."

Derek scowled and pointed at Stiles with the unsharpened end of his current pencil. "You are not Tony. You do not call me dude."

"Weeeeell," Stiles drew the word out, leaning to one side and tilting his head back as though deep in thought. Or giving the most sarcastic display of submission Derek had _ever seen_. "You got one right. Out of two. So, y'know, fifty percent accuracy. Not great, but it could definitely be worse. Dude."

It was hard to look mad when Stiles was saturating the air with happy, smug, playful, _friendly_. A damp Stiles was a fragrant Stiles, apparently.

Derek huffed and flipped his sketchbook open again. To a different commission. 

Stiles babbled about his day, his school work, his teachers. His report on Moby Dick had gotten a good grade, but several baffled comments about his decision to reference Kill Bill for comparison. Derek grunted at appropriate points to let Stiles know he was listening at least as much as usual, occasionally making more pointed commentary by looking up from his sketching to stare at Stiles until he scaled back on whatever exaggeration he was making.

Stiles didn't stay still while he talked. He fidgeted with the business card display, then picked the cards back up and re-arranged them neatly after he'd knocked them over. He paced the room looking for new pieces of flash or photos on the walls, or leafed through a portfolio for the same thing. It wasn't like he never shut up, either. He was quiet whenever he found something to catch his attention. (Twice, it had been Derek. But neither moment lasted.)

When the silence caught and stretched out for nearly a minute, Derek looked up.

Stiles was back on the stool, one leg swaying idly and the other braced against one of the supports, with Tony's portfolio open in his lap. The tattoo Stiles was looking at was one of a paired set, which was only half completed. A sketch of a thigh with a branch wrapped around it and a single apple hanging just above the knee on one page, and a photo of a tattoo (half healed, half still raw) on the other. A viper, as realistic and lifelike as Tony could manage within the limitations of their craft, curved around a thigh to let its head mirror the position of the apple.

It was beautiful and worth the attention, but Stiles was frowning. He traced the bend of the snake from its head upward with just the tip of his finger before shaking his head and looking away. 

He gave an embarrassed laugh when he saw Derek was watching him. "That's amazing, isn't it? The scales must've taken forever."

Derek nodded agreement, but Stiles was staring at the photo again. "I wonder if you could do something like that around the base of the neck. Do you think that'd..."

The image was immediate: Tony's head bent over the work, Stiles' head tipped up to keep his jaw out of the way.

Derek saw red, his vision flickering with an incomplete shift until the pain of claws turned inward to pierce his palm let him focus enough to calm his pulse.

"...Derek?"

He took a deep breath. It was the _placement_ that was the problem, not the implication of Tony doing the work. Tony was _good_ , definitely better than Derek at fine detail realism. Besides, neck designs were always problematic for Derek, if they stretched past the spread of a bite over the nape. Something that close to the throat...

"You okay? Derek?"

"I'm--"

" _Bleeding_ , holy shit!"

Stiles shot off the stool in a maneuver that was half controlled and half collapsing and rushed into the back. The first aid kit was in the bathroom, and it wouldn't take him long to bring it back.

Growling quietly at himself, Derek grabbed his pencil bag with his clean hand and unzipped it with his teeth. He had just enough time to slip a plastic pencil sharpener into his bloodied hand, crush it, and shove the pencil pouch out of sight before Stiles was back.

But at least he had a reason for the blood, now.

\-----

Another week and Stiles had a consultation scheduled with Tony. On another of Derek's days off.

It was pretty obvious that Stiles had started avoiding him. In a weird way that involved still hanging out while he worked, occasionally.

Vic and Tony passed Stiles' folder back and forth, but they never left it in the shop which made it very difficult for Derek to sneak a look. Cara just giggled when he asked about it.

Derek decided that he hated everyone, and stopped asking.


	5. the in-jokes are breeding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do have this listed in the tags as being a slow burn. I feel it's worth noting that maybe "glacial relationship development" might be more appropriate. My buffer is still healthy, as I'm working on chapter 16 right now. Just so y'all know.

"This is so fucking unfair," Tony grumbled from where he was slumped over the consultation counter. "Why do I need to be here if I can't even have appointments for five hours? Why not just close the damn shop?"

"You realize I'm the only person with no say in this, right?" Derek sighed and glared at the display counter. He'd pulled everything out and reorganized some of it, wiped down the internal shelves and cleaned the glass. He was too agitated to draw, this close to the full moon and with Niq in the hospital, but the only front tasks left were mopping (stupid to do, midafternoon) and giving the window display a similar treatment. Which he'd done a few days before, so that would be...stupidly redundant.

Days this slow should not be allowed to _exist_.

Tony lifted his head and glared. "You could _skip it_ and keep me company _here_ , so we could get _actual work_ done." He let his head flop down again, missing Derek's eye roll. "That's the first day Juanita's going to be available to start work on her other leg, too. This sucks."

There really wasn't anything else Derek could reasonably do. "I tried to talk my way out of it."

That was enough to get Tony's attention, his head lifting again and actual interest in his eyes. "How'd that go?'

Derek huffed and rolled his eyes at Tony.

Tony groaned and dropped his head again. Derek contemplated re-sorting the jewelry display by comparative shininess.

\-----

Nothing had changed in the last hour, aside from the jewelry display. When the bell rang, Tony didn't even budge, just worked a hand free and waved. "Hey Stiles."

"How'd you know it was me?" Stiles asked, squinting suspiciously at the top of Tony's head.

"I know what time it is," Tony offered, muffled but dry.

There was a brief pause before Stiles shrugged and nodded. "Touche."

"Is there something you wanted, Stiles?" Derek asked, ignoring Stiles' ever-evolving bitch face as he sidled over and pulled a stool up to the end of the counter.

"You're joking, right? I stopped having _reasons_ months ago." Stiles planted his elbows on the counter and leaned over to peer down at the display. "...hunh. Shiny."

Tony laughed into his arms, but kept his moping posture. Because he was just as ridiculous as everyone Derek was _actually_ related to.

Stiles blinked and looked up. "Oh, right. Next week's the weird one for this month, right? I wanted to double check the schedule."

He made a grabby hands gesture at the appointment book, and Derek handed it over easily. It wasn't like he could understand most of the names in it anyway. With all the different methods they used to shorthand people in, it was a miracle any of _them_ could read it.

"What the hell is up with the twentieth?"

" _That_ is proof that everyone I work with hates me," Tony offered, helpfully.

Derek rolled his eyes again. "Graduation. _Tony_ doesn't have any obligations that day, so he mans the shop."

Stiles scrunched his nose up, frowning at the book then up at Derek. "You...oh, right. Danielle. She's...Hale. Duh." Stiles bobbed in place, his frown turning more thoughtful. "It's going to be weird without her around for Lydia to play off of."

He tapped the page suddenly, switching tracks. "It'd make more sense to make that an appointment-only day, wouldn't it? Like you guys did over the holidays." Stiles pushed the book back toward Derek, shrugging in response to his eyebrow. "The rest of Tony's week looks brutal, and he'd still be around to make appointments and answer questions, right? But he could close up when he needed to be in back."

Tony had his head up and was blinking at Stiles by the time he was done. " _That_ I might be able to convince Vic to do. You're a fucking genius."

"Not yet, but I'm looking forward to it," Stiles shot back, grinning.

Derek's eye twitched and he started pulling out the jewelry again.

\-----

"Is it a bad thing that I'm mostly hoping Gwen doesn't get held back a year so we don't have to do two graduations in a row, in twelve-ish years?" 

Derek grunted a response, trying to stay still.

"Oh, whatever." Vic pulled the machine up and away from his back and turned it off. "Sorry, should've mentioned. I've got the edges shaded in, so a little twitching on your part isn't going to mess anything up, let alone just _talking_."

"Good to know."

She went back to refreshing his ink and Derek closed his eyes, focusing on the vibration of the machine, Vic's heartbeat and the sound of her breath, the voices and steps of the people outside, the clatter of dishware from the restaurants and bars. He found it soothing in a way not even his family always understood.

"I don't think it's bad," Derek said, after she'd moved about an inch down the current swirl. "Could stand to have better reasons, but s'not bad in general."

She chuffed at him, digging her knee into his thigh. "My _reasons_ are what I was talkin' about, dumbass."

"You should just be glad I'm not falling asleep on you."

Vic snorted but the nudge of her knee against his leg was affectionate this time. " _Yet_."

\-----

Maria Hale's opinion on graduation was that if she felt obligated to suffer through the ceremony, then _everyone_ had to suffer through it with her. Grandmother Hale was the only one with a free pass to sit it out, but she hadn't used it yet. No one was quite sure if she went for the eavesdropping, to enjoy the misery of others, or out of support for the pack. They were all possible.

They made family history twice that year. Not only did Niq have a legitimate excuse to miss the ceremony (born at eight pounds one ounce and only alive because the birth had happened at the hospital), the graduating student had actually tried to _run away_.

He honestly didn't know what Danielle had been thinking. They were _werewolves_.

Niq was unbearably smug after she finally brought Erin home. Danielle was still moping, when she wasn't quietly freaking out about college.

Having an entire school's worth of teenagers suddenly available during the day didn't change the activities of a tattoo parlor very much either, past the initial flood of newly-eighteen-year-olds coming in to support each other. Once the gawkers were mostly weeded out, it just left the kids who were serious about the work, and that was hardly a blip on the radar. So at work, things mostly remained the same. Except for where it concerned Stiles.

For one, it was _finally_ too warm for that stupid hoodie to make another appearance.

But mostly, it was that Stiles was around more. A lot more. He'd come in for an hour or two in the mornings, or stop by after lunch. His scent started becoming part of the general backdrop of Tinge rather than a heavy addition that faded out sometimes. More often than not, Stiles had a library book with him. Sometimes art books (usually focused on tattoos, which surprised absolutely no one), but mostly mythology, folk art, and books on symbolism and design.

"Tattoos of frogs are awesome."

Derek glanced up and raised a patient eyebrow at Stiles, who had foregone his now-customary seat at the end of the counter to curl up on the window bench with an oversized book.

"I mean, I don't want one," Stiles continued, "but they're really cool." 

Derek snorted and turned back to his sketch. Technically, he should be working on finalizing the embellishments of a skeletal bat, but Stiles didn't generally stay this still for very long, and he was more interesting. The bat wouldn't take long anyway, and he had another few days. 

Moments like this were why he had two sketchbooks, these days. And if asked, he could always call it portraiture practice.

"I saw one on the internet that was mostly just an outline, with some of the shading blending into the darker half of a yin-yang. That was pretty awesome, since frogs are linked with yin energy for the Chinese." Stiles nodded to himself, pulling one of his exaggerated faces. "But if you aren't making an obvious cross reference like that, they're just...frogs." He let the book fall open against his chest and slumped down further, outlining vague shapes above him. 

And he was staring. Again. 

Derek bent his head back to the sketch before Stiles could catch him, but Stiles didn't look down from the ceiling once as he plugged away at his train of thought. "Like, if you combined a frog and Celtic knot work, you could make an argument for making connections to healing. But if you were using Japanese symbolism, it'd connect to money and travel. So if it's just a frog, it could be pretty much anything." Stiles shook his head and propped the book up again, lips twisting in what might have been disapproval or irritation. "Or nothing. Or, y'know, just a frog. Animal symbolism is _tricky_."

The hell. Derek set his pencil aside, turning to give Stiles a pointed look. "What are you even reading?"

Stiles blinked and looked up, surprised. "Uh. Medieval art history?"

"Of course." 

Some days, he really had no clue what was going on in Stiles' head. Derek sighed and turned back to his sketch as Stiles held the book up against his chest, tapping his fingers against the cover. "It's pretty neat stuff. Not a lot of frogs, though."

Tony leaned in on Derek's right, their shoulders not quite brushing. "I don't know how the hell you guys end up on these topics."

"My fault," Stiles piped up cheerfully, while Derek slammed his sketchbook closed and glared. 

When the _hell_ had Tony gotten back from break?

\-----

Summer break also meant that all three of the terrors were home _all the time_.

Derek smelled his father first. It was at least a few hours old, but it was mixed up with Gwen and Jacob's excitement.

Grinning, he angled the course of his run away from the direction it smelled like the cubs had been traveling. There was a stream down that way, and some nicely astringent tangles to hide in. Excellent location for an ambush.

He'd have to find out if one of the cubs had selected it, or if his dad had pointed it out.

Derek looped around, curving to approach the thicket he was thinking of from downwind. His bag made it hard to maneuver, but the undergrowth was easily manageable in this part of the preserve. 

It was sound, not scent, that let him know he'd misjudged. A branch creaked under shifting weight, giving Derek time to duck into a controlled roll under a low hanging bough before Gwen and Jacob landed, growling and frustrated, right where his back would have been.

His father was laughing nearby, hidden behind a tree, but he wasn't interfering.

Derek crouched and smiled at the kids with his eyes before taking off, vaulting a downed tree as their happy howls echoed behind him. His bag wasn't enough of a handicap to let them catch up, so he kept his pace even and didn't try too hard to throw them off his trail.

The chase was fun, and if he could keep them interested until he got home...

He broke the treeline with less than a minute of lead before the terrible two caught up. "Stacia!"

There was a hesitation before Stacia shrieked inside and came thundering down the stairs. Derek stopped at the edge of the porch, toeing his shoes off and throwing them and his bag up near the door. 

Then Stacia was there, leaping and latching onto his back like the clever little monkey she was, and the cubs were growling as they caught sight of the treeline.

"Remember to keep your head down," Derek reminded Stacia, feeling her nod rapidly against the back of his neck.

Then he was running again, Jacob and Gwen snapping at his heels while he tried to run and dodge and evade with a fragile human stuck to his back.

He didn't even bother trying to throw them off, this time. Not with Stacia shrieking in delight.

\-----

Stiles' folder didn't come to the shop anymore.

Tony shrugged when he asked. "I'm done with my bit. Vic's finishing it up."

\-----

The library books were joined by notebooks, then sketch books, as sweet traces of graphite and ballpoint ink melded with Stiles' normal scent.

The days Stiles brought a sketchbook up to the counter were Derek's favorites. Not that he could figure out what Stiles was going to have done based on his sketches, since they were just as varied as his conversations, but it was easier to talk, somehow, when they could pass a pencil back and forth or compete for space on a page.

Stiles wasn't an art prodigy, but he'd obviously been practicing. It wasn't hard to guess why.

Then again, it was also still Stiles.

"What is that, a potato?"

"My friends need to be punished," Stiles intoned, as though that made any sense at all, and sketched in the rough lines of a jar around the lumpy, bent oval he'd plopped in the middle of the page. 

Derek stole the pencil back to do the hatching for the lid. "You don't make sense."

"Dude. Watch a movie every so often, would you?" 

Derek didn't look up, but Stiles' scent grinned for him.

\-----

The house was nearly empty when he got home that afternoon.

Derek toed his shoes off by the door and followed his nose and ears to the study, where Dominique and Danielle had holed up. Niq had her head craned back against the arm of the chair, trying to see around the back to the door, while Danielle's hand was just barely visible as she waved from where she was probably curled up on Niq's feet.

He could smell rabbit. Niq was wearing her literally-bunny bunny slippers. Danielle's position made _so much more sense_.

"I don't have freaky werewolf senses over here," Niq commented dryly. "Are you family or a burgler?" There was a scuffle then a soft, petulant growl from the couch. "Go eat the burgler, Danielle."

"'S just Derek," Danielle grumbled, before shooting up and eyeing Derek hopefully. "Can we get burgers? I think we deserve burgers."

"I deserve to sleep for a month, and to be done with breastfeeding already, I swear to god," Niq groaned as Derek walked around to stare down at her from the end of the couch. Her hair was pulled up off her neck with an oversized clip, and Niq just looked _wrong_ with her hair a mess and no makeup. The sweats and bunny slippers were, at least, somewhat normal for lounging at home. 

As advertized, Niq had her sweatshirt unzipped and Erin was happily taking advantage of the open nursing bra.

Niq tilted her head back again, giving Derek a pathetic look. "In lieu of that, I will accept offerings of burgers. Drive in burgers. And curly fries. Because you're going to make me eat a salad too."

Danielle shot up with a triumphant noise, already scurrying to get her purse.

"Vegetables are important for _both_ of you," Derek pointed out.

"Lies," Niq muttered, making a face.

Derek snorted and shook his head. "Where's everybody else? I don't think we should leave you two alone."

"Olivia's around. Not sure where." Niq shrugged, unconcerned. "Paul and your parents are out with the terrors at the nursery. They're doing weeding and learning about vegetables and insects. And they're doing that so Peter and Tania could spend the afternoon with Matt. They're in town, I think."

And Laura was still at the garage.

Danielle came thundering down the stairs, while their grandmother simply bypassed them, jumping directly from upstairs. She shot Danielle a mischievous grin as she headed into the study, and ruffled Derek's hair as they passed one another. Never mind the fact that he had at least six inches on her.

Derek huffed, but his grandmother just grinned. "You kids go have fun. Don't get anything for me. I've already eaten."

He knew. She still smelled of blood.

Danielle didn't need any more prompting, though. She grabbed his arm and practically dragged him out the door.

He'd complain about being bullied into going back to town in his running clothes, but really. Drive in.

"You don't really need me to come with, you know," Derek felt obligated to point out, as Danielle herded him toward the passenger side of her car.

"Yeah, well." She paused for a moment, shrugging before pulling the door open and ducking inside. "I'm leaving soon. I'm kinda freaking out, okay?"

Derek sighed and folded himself into his seat, then reached over to cradle Danielle's neck while she drove.

\-----

He missed Stiles' next visit, but there was a plastic bag on his hook in back, holding a DVD with a post-it note on the cover.

_Watch and Learn - Stiles_

\-----

Laura tried to tease him about watching a Disney movie, but she settled in to join them when Matt pulled her down and curled up in her lap.

By the time the credits started rolling, Laura's legs were hooked over Derek's and they both had an arm tucked around Matt. Paul had settled on Derek's other side, instantly gaining a Stacia in his lap, and Peter had just poked his head in.

Laura squinted at the screen then looked down at the pleading eyes of the three terrors. "Okay. Let's watch it in Spanish next."

Jacob growled softly but Gwen was already fetching Laura the remote. "No captions!"

\-----

Stiles thankfully didn't ask why his DVD had gone missing for so long. The toothmarks Gwen had left in the case would have been hard to explain, and the replacement copy hadn't shown up yet. 

Lilo and Stitch was a miracle. Gwen would actually sit still and watch until the credits were over. 

Derek drew Pudge, sandwich and all, in the corner of the page he and Stiles were talking through. Stiles laughed and drew in another fish, narrower and with more exaggerated markings and eyes. "Just keep swimming, just keep swimming..."

And that.

That was catching.

Derek glared at Stiles as the earworm worked its way into his brain, but Stiles just stared back placidly before sketching in a quick, cartoony version of the Tinge front counter, with Derek glowering behind it. 

It was Stiles' first attempt at a person other than himself, or a setting. Derek didn't put too much thought into what he felt about that.

\-----

He still had that song stuck in his head by the time he'd gotten home. According to the internet, Stiles' fish had been from something called Finding Nemo, which was...all about fish.

Derek forwarded the link to his mother. Gwen loved the fish in Lilo and Stitch more than anything else, aside from Stitch.

\-----

A few days later, he returned Stiles' (new) copy of Lilo and Stitch by shoving it in Stiles' bag while he was sitting with Cara and a client who liked listening to them babble. The note he'd left inside was a sketch of a pickle, a potato and a spoon, with the text _One of these things is not like the others._

Two days, and Stiles passed him a note via Tony, while Derek was with a client. _You say po-tay-toh, I say po-tah-to. Somehow, spoons are involved._ The majority of the page was taken up with a cartoony depiction of Stiles' face, sticking its tongue out.

It wasn't bad, really. 

He kept it, and didn't examine why.

\-----

It only took two days after the new movie arrived for Derek to deeply, deeply regret suggesting Finding Nemo to his mother. The song was even worse in person, and Gwen never failed to shriek at the first scene with the shark. And the anglerfish. And the _whale_.

But it kept her calm, and the kids were picking up Spanish and French faster than the adults could keep up with.

\-----

The next time Stiles' sketchbook visited, they filled pages with potatoes in hula skirts, stereotypical hula girls, and cartoon versions of everyone in the shop plus several of Stiles' classmates, sometimes with accompanying stories.

Stiles nodded solemnly as he stared down at one of Derek's hula-skirted potatoes that was being hugged by a dark haired hula girl that Stiles had sketched in. "That? That is something no one should ever have as a tattoo."

"Yeah."

\-----

It was an understood law of the Hale household that things will break. They've broken windows, walls, furniture, the staircase railing, virtually everything in the kitchen except the tea strainers, and more light fixtures than anyone wanted to contemplate. 

Derek's mother and uncles knew carpentry, because they'd had an unstoppable need to destroy furniture as children. Derek and Laura could replace a window in record time if they had all the materials, and had more experience patching and painting walls than they wanted to admit to. If something with an engine needed fixing, it was best to ask Laura, Peter, or Danielle. If it had to do with electrical wiring or plumbing, it was Danielle, Paul, or Derek.

All together, they probably _could_ build a house and have it not suck.

DVD players were still beyond them.

Gwen didn't take that very well.

\-----

Derek waved at Vic as he slipped in through the back, and rolled his eyes when she just pointed at her ears. She knew his ear buds weren't actually connected to anything, and that he could hear perfectly well with them in. It was just a matter of appearances. 

He took them out and stored them in his arm band all the same. "Anything new?"

"Good morning to you too." Vic snickered and shook her head, gesturing him on toward the bathroom. "You've got a consult at noon. Robin lady finally called back. Other than that, nada. No change."

Derek nodded acknowledgement and went to change into his work clothes and drag a towel over his hair. The bell at the front door rang, but between the muffling of the walls, the radio station Vic had turned on for the morning, and his own muttered curses when his bootlaces decided to tangle, he couldn't tell anything more than that. When he opened the door, though, Stiles' scent had joined Vic's.

"...Thursday?" Vic muttered. "Will that timing be okay?"

"Yeah, it's late enough."

Vic laughed. "Uh-huh. You are crap at staying on topic. I wasn't putting you anywhere except at the end of a shift, since you'll probably run over."

"Hey! No fair bringing up the truth."

Vic laughed again and was sliding the appointment book away when Derek came around the corner. "Have you figured out what you want for that yet?"

"Heeeeeey, Derek." Stiles waved awkwardly with an exaggerated smile stretched across his face. Vic snickered before turning to face him, not even bothering to try looking innocent.

"What are you two up to?"

Stiles looked supremely disappointed in him. "Do you really want to know? It's _me_. Worse, it's _VIC_."

Vic nodded sagely, armed crossed under her chest and appointment book safely fenced in by her hips. 

"Exactly. It's you and Vic. That almost implies that I _need_ to know."

"In good time, Derek. In good time." Stiles leaned over the counter to give his arm a friendly pat, ignoring Derek's incredulous eyebrow. "Uh, wow. Do your workouts work out? Your arms need zip codes."

"What."

A pair of young men walked in then, holding hands. They took one look at Stiles, half draped over the counter and pawing at Derek's arms, then the taller of the pair smirked and bumped hips against his partner. "I think I like it here."

Vic slumped sideways against the wall and slid down it, giggling hysterically.

Stiles managed to escape while Derek was forced to deal with the customers, and of _course_ they didn't want anything complicated enough to let him pawn them off on someone else. Why would reality be that kind?

\-----

He had no new consultations scheduled at all on any of the next few Thursdays. 

He wasn't admitting to _anybody_ that he'd checked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been kind of short on the witty commentary the last few weeks. In repayment, [have a link to another tattoo artist](http://davidhale.org/section/301323_Tattoo.html) who does some amazing work and whose name is kind of ironically apt, considering where you're getting the link from. ;)
> 
> My knowledge of tattoo artists is mostly via my main editor, the enigmatic roommate. We don't look for geographical connections, rather just amazing art.


	6. Celebrations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it would help you to have a family tree for reference, you might want to check out [The Kitchen Sink](http://archiveofourown.org/works/569745). I'll be throwing reference material like the family trees and any short little things that don't fit in with other narratives over there. I will try to always include a link here in the next update, if I put something over there.
> 
> There are potential spoilers in the family tree, so be warned. Ch 1 of Kitchen Sink is spoiler free, but Ch 2 is not. They're really minor potential spoilers, but they are there.

Derek hated the front desk the least, so when Cara's birthday rolled around, that's where he was. He had two appointments (a touch up and a small addition to a previous design) over the eight hours that he'd be there, and he only had that because Cara had to take a break once every few hours.

Tony would sulk. Vic would eventually crack and close the shop entirely.

The shop was leaking happy-Cara by the time he got there, and Tony didn't wait for Derek to change before he ducked out, laughing and dodging balls of lavender wrapping paper as he went. Cara made a face at the door when it closed behind Tony, then went back to cleaning up her work station. "I am _so_ invoking Laura on his ass. Jerk gave me prunes."

Snickering, Derek walked over to ruffle her hair. "You're thirty-six. Practically a baby still."

"Says the twenty-something," Cara scoffed, waving him off. "Come on, go change. My next appointment's in half an hour."

"Yes'm."

The bell rang just before Derek was finished, and even with the door closed he could hear Stiles shouting, "Happy birthday!"

He heard a scuffling noise from the front as he opened the door. Most likely, Cara was trying to duck behind the counter to hide her blush, or she'd failed to get off the stool gracefully and had fallen into the wall when she couldn't get her legs underneath her.

Again.

Snorting, Derek dropped his bag off under his hook and wandered up to watch the show.

Stiles hadn't even made it all the way inside. Whether she'd fallen down or not, Cara had made it out from behind the counter to grab Stiles up in a hug halfway to the register. She was bright red, grinning and laughing as she let Stiles pull away to hand off her birthday spoils; a coffee, a pastry bag that smelled almost offensively of chocolate and coconut, and a card. 

Stiles turned and beamed at him as soon as Cara was occupied trying to juggle everything. He pulled another cup out of the carry tray he was holding and held it out for Derek. "Here, I got something for you too."

"Isn't he the sweetest?" Cara was...trying to open her card. With her teeth, because she hadn't put anything down.

Derek shook his head and took his coffee from Stiles, then started nudging Cara back toward the register counter so she could _put something down_.

He waited to try his coffee until Cara was settled and ripping into her card and Stiles was laughing at her from the stool they'd stopped putting away. Cara's amusement tapered off into curiosity as Stiles tensed in his seat and started scratching at his nose, but Derek was hardly paying attention to that.

This was _his drink_. His stupid, fussy drink that he rarely bothered with unless he was having a crap day.

Derek stared down at the cup for a moment, then turned his attention to Stiles, who was grinning like a loon. Next to him, Cara was wide eyed and amused.

In retrospect, it was a good thing the macaroons had overpowered the smell of the coffee. Stiles had obviously been betting on a reaction, and Derek asking about the drink before it even reached his hand would have been--something. Not good.

" _How_?"

Stiles shrugged, grin widening as Cara giggled next to him. "Uh. Well, I like the place across the street and all?" Stiles started, "but I knew that Blake's is the best place in town for...well, that." He pointed at the bag, which reminded Cara to go digging and resulted in another happy squeak as she discovered her coconut filled bounty; two gigantic macaroons with dark chocolate swirled over the top. "And...your sister's kinda creepy, y'know?"

Derek groaned and covered his eyes with one hand. Danielle. Cara jumped up to sit on the counter and watch them, exactly like they were never supposed to do, so Derek had to drop his hand again to swat her until she pouted and moved to a stool instead.

"I mean, we never really talked--I was going to say much, but no. I don't think we _ever_ talked when she wasn't working, which doesn't usually count." Stiles shook his head. "Point being? She knew I knew you, and that was just freaky. I didn't think she'd have been able to pick me out of a lineup as someone who attended the same _school_ as her."

She probably couldn't have. But she'd have known his smell from Derek, especially with a month for the sense of high school to fade.

"Danielle recognized you?" He'd have to talk with her about that.

"Not right away," Stiles admitted, grimacing. "I was kind of waffling over what to get you. I mean, I knew she was your sister and I could probably ask her? But I thought that might be weird. Then she just kinda squinted at me and asked if the third drink was for you." The smile came back, with something soft and warm in his expression that Derek couldn't identify. "You two must be close. I mean, I have no idea what she made you. She didn't charge me for your drink, though."

Derek huffed and looked away, then stiffened when Cara snickered.

"Oh, that's easy," Cara drawled. "Derek doesn't actually like _coffee_ , see. It's more that he likes really hot coffee ice cream. He gets a white chocolate mocha breve with a single pump of almond syrup."

Stiles barked a laugh and Derek slumped against the counter, sipping his drink sulkily.

\-----

Cara devoured one of the macaroons, despite the fact that they were about the size of one of _Derek's_ fists. The other one she wrapped up carefully in some of the shop's cling wrap and hid in her bag for later.

Customers came and went while Stiles and Cara chattered, occasionally digging at Derek's barely-coffee drink of choice. (Not that Stiles had any room to talk. With the macaroons put away or consumed, Derek could finally confirm that Stiles' drink was just a hot chocolate.) More cards were dropped off for Cara, both by customers and the occasional friend.

It was loud and full of intrusions. It should have been annoying, but with Stiles and Cara spending most of her free time half leaning against one another, laughing and filling the space with _happy_ and _green_ , it was hard to feel anything but mellow.

Most of the day's appointments were Cara's, because that was honestly what she wanted to spend her birthday doing. Which meant that of course Murphy came knocking when Cara ran over.

Literally. Colleen Murphy, with her partial sleeve of over-saturated forget-me-nots that needed a few extra flowers added, for balance.

"It's a curse of my name," Colleen confessed to Stiles, as Derek headed back to check in with Cara.

"Cara..."

"I need ten minutes to _finish_ , Derek." And Cara was calm, almost placid as she kept the machine moving while she talked. "It's not worth rescheduling for."

The bell rang and Derek wanted to growl.

"Hi! Welcome to Tinge."

Cara lifted the machine away from her client and turned to exchange a startled look with Derek. He turned on his heel and hurried up to the front.

"Uh, hi." The voice was almost familiar. A woman who was working on a bird of paradise with Vic, he thought. He mostly remembered the contradiction; the flamboyant ink and hesitant demeanor. "I just...need to reschedule a consultation?"

Colleen was sitting at the consultation counter now, one hand over her mouth to hide her smile. Stiles was...behind the register, opening the appointment book like he did it every day. "Sure thing. What's your name, and when was your appointment?"

Derek stared for a moment, but kept his expression neutral when the client glanced his way before answering Stiles' questions.

Stiles slapped a post-it note on the appointment book with the information, once he'd confirmed it against the schedule, rather than changing anything himself. Otherwise the process was--almost exactly the same as when any of them had to do the same thing. 

Which probably shouldn't have surprised him, considering how much time Stiles spent watching them.

Vic's client left, and Stiles offered the book to Derek with a sheepish shrug. "Uh. I hope that was okay. I mean, if you guys just need ten minutes, I'm pretty sure I could do that. So Colleen doesn't have to wait?"

"Go for it!" Cara called from the back, and Derek shrugged before gesturing Colleen into the back.

Colleen laughed, already pulling off her over-shirt to bare her arms. "Thanks, Stiles. Feel free to come back and keep me company later, if you want."

Stiles laughed and waved them off. 

When Cara had finished with her client she took the time to clean up her area rather than rushing off to relieve Stiles. Derek could hear them talking about how he'd taken the notes, and Cara's approval for his use of post-its. Then Colleen was grinning past his shoulder and Stiles was pulling a stool over (Vic's. again.) to sit at his side, automatically settling at the perfect distance to not disrupt Derek's work.

It felt like he belonged there.

\-----

The family celebration was a little...wilder.

Cara and Vic brought salmon and ostrich meat for the grill, carefully packaged in several empty veggie-burger boxes. Because Cara was a Hale, married in or not.

The bonfire was lit early, so they could have a few s'mores before dinner. Niq took over the grill with Erin tucked into a sling, while Tania and Vic kept Matt and Stacia occupied in the kitchen, ripping up herbs, mixing the salad, and cutting easy vegetables.

Everyone else ran. Cara was flushed and panting at their center, but that didn't stop her from playing with the rest of them. Danielle shifted human just before half-tackling Cara with a hug and darting away again. "You're it!"

Cara laughed and waited, winding her way through the trees at her own slow speed. Another It was chosen among the wolves and they kept playing, weaving through the woods and dodging close to Cara to make sure she never felt alone.

Maria bounded past Cara, freezing and ears perking up when Cara tensed and crouched. Derek paused behind a tree to watch. His muscles were shaking with the effort to keep himself still and quiet, to not _laugh_.

Cara crouched further and smiled before she bolted, away and to the side. The wolf that was his mother yipped joy and gave chase, knocking Cara to the ground and snuffling her face happily before Cara had gone ten feet.

Well past them, Peter and Paul were laughing as Cara wriggled onto her back and smiled without teeth up at her alpha.

"You're it."

Maria's ears twitched annoyance and she snorted before taking off after her brothers.

\-----

The first time Stiles came in after the temperature _really_ started rising, he was wearing less clothes than Derek had ever seen him in. A t-shirt and long, loose shorts. No layers, but he wasn't foolish enough to wear sandals into the shop, at least. It was still surprising to see his legs at all. More surprising to see the definition in them and that they were tanned, considering they never seemed to see the light.

"Hey...uh." Stiles blinked and stumbled to a stop before he'd reached the counter. "Um."

Derek blinked slowly at Stiles and raised his eyebrows, waiting.

"Okay, right. Um, just. _Wow_ , you have arms." Stiles blinked several times rapidly and turned away to grab his stool, but not before Derek saw the flush crawling up his neck. "I mean, obviously you have arms. Your profession kind of requires that you have arms. And with the whole, yeah, accidental groping of your biceps that one time. It's just-- They're _there_."

Derek rested one elbow on the counter and braced his chin in his hand, waiting to see how much worse this would get before Stiles managed to stop.

If he'd known that switching to a tank top would be _this_ entertaining, he'd have done it ages ago.

Stiles gestured wildly over his head once he'd gotten his stool in place, glowering at Derek as though he knew _exactly_ what Derek was doing. "And you are not helping, with the eyebrows and the staring and oh my god, dude."

He was flushed and flustered, his sweat making his scent more pronounced. Earth, spices, sour-wood.

Musk-spice-apple.

That was new. 

Derek watched as Stiles huffed and pointedly pulled out his sketchbook. The embarassment was still there, but the flush was mellowing in pace with that new scent the longer Stiles kept his attention diverted.

The new scent spiked again when Derek reached over to pull the sketchbook closer. When Stiles' eyes flicked up to track the movement and froze on Derek's bare shoulder before snapping back to the book.

Derek bit the inside of his cheek and turned his attention to the sketchbook to distract himself before he memorized the scent of Stiles' want.

Stiles drew a fast impression of Derek, with an angry, glaring face and arms like a gorilla. Derek retaliated with a picture of Stiles off to one side that was all thin, flailing limbs. He smiled when Stiles finally reached over to punch his shoulder lightly as Derek was adding the ninth arm.

\-----

Gwen bit a girl at the park.

Derek didn't find out until he got home and was able to sense the distress and tension. She hadn't shifted in public, hadn't done damage past bruising, but she had lost control. She had hurt people.

She _had_ shifted once Peter had gotten her into the minivan and out of sight. She'd also bitten his arm, deep enough to cause a mess that couldn't easily be explained away, before she'd started to calm down.

Gwen didn't get to go into town anymore. Not until her control improved.

Laura, Paul and Danielle were curled up in a pile with Stacia and Matt in the big room. Derek wormed his way in once his father had given him the news, hooking his legs over Danielle and bracketing Matt between himself and Laura.

Paul rumbled quietly as Danielle relaxed and pressed her face against his knee.

\-----

"I made cards for everybody," Stiles announced a few days later as he strode in, handing Derek the pink envelope from the miniature rainbow in his hands. It was still punishingly hot more often than not, but Stiles had switched to layering thin overshirts over tank tops.

"...why?" Derek frowned at the envelope, but waved Stiles through to the back so he could see Tony and Cara.

His envelope had an Angry Birds theme sketched in around his name, only with Angry-Derek face's and potatos instead of birds and pigs.

It said something that he could recognize Stiles' Angry-Derek face without effort or hesitation, even in such a ridiculous context. He suspected it was the eyebrows.

"Because I'm going on a trip with my dad. I'll be gone for a couple of weeks, and I'm going to miss you!" Stiles' voice rose as he wandered further into the back. Cara and Tony aww-ed in sync, which was just typical.

Derek frowned but opened his envelope, carefully ripping around the stegosaurus sticker Stiles had sealed the flap with. The cover was a decent copy of one of Derek's hula-skirted potatoes. The shading was a little sloppy, but otherwise... 

Inside was a comical drawing of Derek scowling behind the counter, then smiling cheerfully at a group of customers, then scowling worse than before with little rain clouds and skull-and-crossbones behind his head, and the giggling heads of Vic, Cara and Tony peering around the wall at him. A scrawl at the bottom said _Cheer up, sourpuss!_

On the opposite page was a cartoon of Stiles languishing dramatically in the passenger seat of a car while an older man sang and looked cheerful behind the wheel. The mangled nature of the notes around his head implied at least part of the reason for the exaggerated torment Stiles was displaying.

Under that was the text _I'll be thinking of you._ , and at the bottom...

It was one of the best Stiles drawings he'd seen so far. A self-portrait, still cartoony but more realistic than most of his work, leaning out a car window and staring into the distance. He had a pencil over one ear and was holding several pages loosely in one hand, either not caring or not noticing that several pages were flying away.

Derek checked the back of the card, but the only decoration there was a continuation of the blown away pages. He cleared his throat softly and carefully put the card back in the envelope so it could join the slowly growing collection of Stiles-art on his wall.

It would be easy to read into the card, but he wasn't sure what it was he should be looking for. Besides, it wasn't like he was the only person to get one.

When Stiles came back to the front, all smiles and flushed from being noogied by Tony, Derek just nodded and held up the envelope.

"You're getting a lot better."

Stiles...drooped. His scent went...soggy? Damp, anyway. But he shrugged and dredged up a grin before the moment stretched long enough to be commented on. "Thanks, man."

Then he left. For two weeks.

\-----

Stiles' prediction of how those two weeks would go was disturbingly accurate. He could practically feel the little thunder clouds and bones hovering around his head, and he _could_ smell the amusement coming off Vic, at least. Cara seemed torn between amusement and honest sympathy, and had taken to leaving candy at the register for him. (It made him think about Stiles.) Tony, strangely, seemed more relaxed than ever. 

"It's hard to find you intimidating like this, dude." Tony commented one day, shaking his head and smiling like he wanted to laugh. "I mean, I know you could still wrap me around a telephone pole. But seriously."

Derek hated everything.

\-----

Gwen hated everything too. 

She shifted more often, and rarely went a day without crying. Having her parents around wasn't helping as much as it should have, and they could only stay home so often.

The heat made her cranky, which meant they couldn't let her out, which meant she got angry, which meant she shifted. Which meant, sometimes, that she hurt someone.

No one slept well while Gwendolyn was locked in the safe room, howling.

No one was sleeping well. Period.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In growing tradition, I'd like to point out some awesome tattoo artists! [Esther at Butterfat Studios](http://butterfatstudios.com/artwork/2403224_Garden_Flowers.html) has some absolutely amazing work (my favorite is actual the [garter snake](http://butterfatstudios.com/artwork/373109_Gartersnake.html), but the flowers reminded me of Vic). Thanks to [wldnst](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wldnst/) for pointing them out!
> 
> [Jennifer Billig](http://jenniferbilligtattoo.com/section/94517_Tattoos.html) also has some gorgeous floral work, though I will admit I'm not horribly fond of the web design.


	7. the return of the Stiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? What is this?!? This is not an early update, it's an _extra update_. Chapter 8 will be posted tomorrow, on my usual schedule.

Derek growled and shoved his head further under his pillow when his phone buzzed. It was the morning after a full moon run. That meant he didn't work and that he'd probably only been asleep a few hours. It was also the best sleep he'd had in a week because Gwen had _finally_ been exhausted enough to pass out.

The phone buzzed again. He reached blindly for it and pulled out from under the pillow enough to read the screen. Vic. 

He glared at the phone, weighing his choices, but the combined forces of 'boss' and 'family' had him sighing and flipping his cell open on the third ring. "What."

"It really is amazing you're capable of interacting with customers at all."

There was a bit of distortion from the phone and static from wind on her end, but Vic sounded smug rather than cajoling, so it wasn't likely she needed him to come in for an extra shift. "I get paid to be nice, then," he muttered, and checked his clock. Alright, _six_ hours of sleep. It still wasn't enough. "Does this call have anything to do with me being paid?"

"Nooo," she said, drawing the word out until Derek was gritting his teeth. "I just figured I'd give you a call on my break like the kind and loving cousin that I am and let you know Stiles is back. He was disappointed when he realized this was one of our weird weeks. But I know you've missed him too, so..."

On one hand, he hated seeming predictable, let alone pathetic. On the other hand-- "He's still there?"

"Yup. I slipped out after we got the hugs over with, and he's settled in with Cara and the tiki-mask guy."

Which meant he'd be there for a while. "Thanks."

"Yah-huh. See you soon."

\-----

He managed to catch a ride into town with Danielle, who didn't have the advantage of either making her own schedule or working for understanding packmates, so was pulling an afternoon shift at Blake's. It only cost him the promise of a babysitting-free Saturday night to convince her to leave a bit earlier than she'd wanted.

Derek slipped in through the employee entrance and into the shop itself, grinning when he saw that Stiles was perched on a stool facing the other way. Thankfully, Cara shared the Hale pack's sense of what sort of situations were funny. She saw him coming but didn't telegraph it, just returned to her work with a smile.

When Cara finished taping the bandage in place over the new tattoo, Derek took the last step forward and hooked his chin over Stiles' head.

It wasn't a risk he'd have taken if he was human, especially with someone like Stiles; all movement and joints, half the time. And Stiles didn't disappoint, slamming his head into Derek's jaw as he jerked in alarm, then catching Derek hard in the side with a flailing elbow when he tried to turn. It hurt, but not that much and it was gone before Stiles had managed to re-orient himself.

"Oh my fucking _god_ , don't _do_ that to me." Stiles slumped with a hand dramatically splayed over his sternum once he'd figured out it was Derek. Cara had completely lost it behind him, reassuring her client that everything was alright around gasping laughs.

Stiles rubbed a hand over the back of his head and Derek winced along with him, belatedly re-thinking his approach. "Dude, you're lucky I have a hard head. Man. Is your jaw okay? I hit you pretty hard."

He had, and right into the sensitive spot toward the back. But it wasn't even sore, now. "I'm fine. Maybe your head isn't as hard as you think."

"Well, that isn't necessarily a bad thing." Stiles grinned up at him, moving out of Cara's working area so they could talk without being too obnoxious. "You, sir, are not on the schedule today."

Derek shrugged, but there was no way he could play this off entirely. "Vic called. Said you missed me."

That earned a round of stuttering indignation and a wave of green-tinged happy. "That is a total lie." Derek just stared at Stiles until he slumped, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. "Okay. _Maybe_ I had expressed some slight level of disappointment that you weren't here, but it wasn't like it was a big deal or anything."

"Mhmm." Derek ran a hand over Stiles' head, smiling at the irritated flapping the gesture merited. "Come on, I'll buy you a hot chocolate or something."

He nudged Stiles further into the back where his bag was hanging. On Derek's hook, even.

Stiles raised a judgmental eyebrow in his direction. "Hot chocolate? Not coffee? I mean. I brought _you_ coffee."

"...Cara said you don't usually drink coffee. With her, anyway." Which was a lie. Cara never talked about their chats at the coffee shop, whether they were consultations or not. But she always came back smelling more strongly of chocolate than anything else, outside her own breath, and the one time Stiles had brought a drink in with him, it was hot chocolate.

That was kind of difficult to explain to someone who didn't know about werewolves, though.

Stiles gave him a suspicious look, but grabbed his bag. "That's kinda stalker-ish, Derek. I'm just sayin'." He shrugged, the wary slant to his shoulders set aside easily as he called a goodbye up toward Cara and Vic and slipped through the door. "But yeah, that's normally how it goes. I would kinda kill for a burger or something, though. Haven't had lunch yet."

"Lunch it is, then."

"Floyd's?" Stiles offered, even as he peered around the alley the back of the shop emptied into. "They have the best fries."

Of course Stiles was addicted to the same fries Niq was. Derek laughed in the back of his throat and gave Stiles a nudge in the direction of Floyd's. "That's fine."

"Did you know that Floyd's has never actually been owned by somebody named Floyd?" Stiles was close to vibrating at his side as they walked, mouth moving faster than his feet. "When drive-ins started going out of fashion, the place was bought by a Zachary. He left it to his son Steve, without having done much with it. Steve's the one who made it Floyd's. Because he thought that sounded like a guy who should own a burger joint.

"Steve expanded the building so they could be a proper sit down place, and kept the drive-in facility mostly for character. Now it's retro and fashionable." Stiles rolled his eyes and sidestepped almost into Derek's side to avoid a puddle of something. He didn't move quite as far when he stepped back out of Derek's space. "Steve wanted to name his kid Floyd, but his wife threatened to divorce him. Then they only had girls anyway. I think Olive's running the place now. It used to be Heather, but I think she finds being an EMT less stressful."

Stiles turned toward him with an expectant smile and Derek felt himself smiling back before he had a chance to think about it. 

Then Stiles was off again, filling their walk with pointless trivia. It was weirdly soothing.

\-----

Stiles didn't even bother with the menu, once they'd been seated. He shoved it off to the side and opened his backpack, eyeing the table skeptically for a moment and rubbing his fingers over it before pulling out a notebook and a few pencils.

He flipped to the back of the book and set it between them, even as Derek was setting his own menu aside. 

"You should start," Stiles said, holding a pencil out. "I have been drawing long enough now that I've become aware of how much I suck. The internet tells me that's a normal stage of development, so don't tell me otherwise."

Derek snorted and started penciling in a stairway crossing one corner of the page. Outline complete, he turned the notebook to start on upside-down arches and another set of stairs.

Labyrinth offered wonderful inspiration and solutions to the difficulties of drawing with someone with a different concept of where 'down' was.

Stiles had started drawing little creatures making their way over the first set of stairs when the waitress came to take their order. They were distorted and impossible, hovering somewhere between Jim Hensen and Dr. Seuss.

They were also far more interesting than food. Stiles kicked lightly against his shin to remind him to order, then made a horrified face at him when he requested a salad instead of fries.

He _liked_ vegetables. That wasn't a bad thing.

Stiles scoffed and went back to drawing but...he was quiet. Derek hadn't bribed his little sister to bring him into town in order to hang out with a pod-person.

He nudged at one of Stiles' feet. "How was your trip?'

Stiles startled, his pencil skidding across the page before he could pull it up. Derek turned the random line into a slightly curved flag pole for the tiny puff of fur Stiles had been drawing to carry.

The flag pole was about ten times its height, but why should that matter?

Derek carefully sketched a tiny stegosaurus onto the flag, then gave it shading so it would look like it was waving in a breeze while Stiles blinked at him.

Eventually, Stiles grinned. "It was okay. Kinda weird. We were visiting my aunt. My mom's sister. She's kind of the only extended family I'm allowed to see, who knows who I am."

Allowed to see? Derek gave Stiles a curious look, but he was already plunging ahead. "I mean, it's not that I don't have more extended family. My aunt has a boatload of cousins who've had kids, so I have all these second cousins over in Nevada and...elsewhere. I dunno." He shrugged, turning a frown down on the page where he was trying to draw a flying thing with teeth chasing the stegosaurus flag. "I mean, I don't really keep track of the ones we see every couple of years, y'know? We just get introduced again every time we wander over. Let ourselves get dragged to a church thing even though Rachel, that's my aunt, rolls her eyes about it. I don't think she goes, like, at all, when we aren't there. Which is kinda weird, but whatever."

Derek sketched in a girl with limbs that were too-thin and too-long to sit on a landing between two mismatched staircases, her hair falling in dramatic swirls into the air above her head. Stiles added a small school of fish swimming through and around her hair.

"It's great to visit, but I'm kinda glad we don't go more often. Rachel and Dad don't have much in common except, y'know, my mom. So we go to a lot of movies, which mostly works. But..." He paused, shrugging uncomfortably. "I remind her of my mom, even if I don't look much like her. So sometimes she gets this tight look on her face when I do something, and I can't even tell what it is I'm doing to make it happen." Stiles glared at the page and drew a bat-like-thing in amongst the flying fish. "Sometimes I think that's really why she goes to church when we visit."

Their little city of stairs was starting to get too populated, so Derek snagged the book and flipped the page before setting it back. "That doesn't sound like fun."

It sounded horrible, really. And completely alien. His mother's aunt had a daughter, he knew, who had wanted marriage and family and nothing to do with werewolves. 

He'd never met either of them, or his great-aunt's mate. They'd severed their ties and left the pack before his grandfather had settled into being the alpha, after their mother died.

It was still a touchy subject for the family. More traumatic than losing Vic and Edward's parents and grandmother in one night.

"Eh," Stiles offered, shrugging as he frowned at the page before sketching in the shape of a head. The shoulders he gave it were entirely out of proportion, but Derek wasn't going to call him on it. "It was fun, I just...have issues. I dunno."

He exhaled heavily before looking up and grinning at Derek again. "The church thing was actually fun this time, though. They were doing a bake sale and social to raise funds for their choir, who really do kick ass and deserve new robes or whatever. So it was low on the religion and high on the singing, cookies and gossip."

Derek filled in another figure, leaning toward the upside-down (to her/him) shape Stiles was forming. He made a curious noise, and that set Stiles off again.

"One of the couples had the most _ridiculously_ adorable four year old in existance." Stiles frowned, carefully erased the line of an arm, giving it a bit more curve and changing its position as he went back to it. And suddenly the horrible proportions made more sense. Four year olds and adults looked nothing alike. "All blonde curls and gigantic green eyes and a gap in her teeth. Totally weapon-grade cute."

Derek translated that as a blonde (and probably paler) Stacia, only a bit younger. He figured it couldn't be that far off. His figure became a woman, with wide curious eyes and a sharp nose.

"I think the cute is the only reason she's still alive," Stiles added as he started working short, riotous curls around the chubby little fingers he'd given his drawing. And...clumps of something. "Her mom bought her a rice krispie treat and apparently turned away at some point? I don't really know. All I know is that one moment everything was normal and the next people were practically falling over laughing. Because hardly any of that rice krispie thing went into her mouth. Most of it went into her hair."

Some of the curls looked like snakes. Derek gave the mouth he was working on subtle fangs, and sketched in the impression of a nest of snakes flowing from the woman's head. He could work with a medusa. Snakes were more interesting than most hair, anyway.

Stiles' drawing developed a mostly impressionistic face. Faint lines where the curve of a cheek should go, an impression of gapped teeth, closed eyes and a snub nose. He hadn't finished yet when he stopped working, started tapping the eraser against the page as he watched Derek's snakes take shape.

When he put pencil to page again, he filled the space between their drawings with--a lumpy column.

Derek quirked an eyebrow at it, forcing a smile down when Stiles scowled and blushed at him. "Shut up, okay? Just--shut up." Derek let his other eyebrow join the party and Stiles pointed his pencil at him. "No, seriously. Talking for you includes the eyebrows."

There was a snort of laughter and their waitress was _right there_ at the edge of their table, sliding plates in front of them. Stiles made a face and grabbed his burger, accidentally knocking a fry onto the notebook and smearing the page with grease before he was able to snatch it back up.

Derek smiled at the blissful noise Stiles made at getting that first fry into his mouth, then turned back to the waitress, who had no real reason to still be hanging around.

"Just holler if you need refills or anything," she told him, winking and grinning before she walked away.

What the hell was that about?

Stiles was managing to eat with one hand, while continuing to draw with the other. The lumpy column now had more distinction at Derek's end, and Stiles was drawing something wrapped around it, but entirely flat.

By the time he was a few bites into his salad, he realized it was a snake. A snake wrapped around an _arm_.

The irregular shaping suddenly made sense. It was still kind of horrible, but it made sense.

Derek wiped his hands clean and waved Stiles off the book, flipping the page and drawing a few quick models of hand-to-elbow for Stiles to work with before going back to his burger.

Stiles kept drawing one handed around first his burger, then clumsy handfulls of fries. He was still sketching in coiled snakes, bodies shaded lightly just to make them stand out, rather than anything coherent done with them. The first of the new arms didn't have multiple turns. Instead, Stiles started with an ouroborous, the mouth eating the tail toward the outside of the arm, up near the elbow.

"Are snakes a thing now?" Derek asked, honestly curious. It hadn't been that long ago that Stiles had been complaining about animal symbology, had it?

The corner of Stiles' mouth quirked up and he let his next fry fall back onto the plate. "Yeah, I guess. I mean, I don't want a snake tattoo? Not now, anyway."

The next snake coiled three times like a gauntlet from wrist to mid-arm. Stiles left the head and tail for last, overlapping them at the back of the wrist, so the three lines briefly became one.

"They just...it feels right?" Stiles shrugged. "I think I'll want one eventually, but I don't know why yet, so yeah. It's gonna wait."

He drew another coiling snake on the third arm, with the tail starting at the elbow and coiling three times before stopping, headless, just below the wrist. "--you can create illusions with tattoos, can't you?"

Derek pushed his plate aside and leaned forward, giving Stiles an expectant look. Stiles was looking _through_ the page more than at it, his voice as distant as his eyes.

Frowning vaguely, Stiles tapped his eraser against the unfinished snake. "Could you put a head on both sides of the wrist? Without it being obvious, from most angles."

He turned the idea over in his head while Stiles abandoned his pencil to finish off his fries. When the image settled, he grabbed Stiles' pencil and changed the fourth hand-model he'd drawn in, making it thinner with lumps for the styloid process and--the lumpy bit on the palm side, which he could never remember the name of. 

Whatever.

He implied a shallow curl coming from one side of the snake, hooking up around the styloid to where a head could go. The other side of the snake he continued, ignoring the new curve and creating another that flowed mostly naturally from the body. Sketching in a rough diamond over where the two bodies diverged from the original, Derek used the floating point to decide where the other side of the split should to and traced both necks back to it. The join was neatly contained at the back of the arm, where it would be least visible.

Derek glanced over to where Stiles was grinning, leaning forward to get a better look, and he smiled. "Yeah. Looks like it's possible."

Their waitress came back, proving that she had horrible timing as she waved their tab at them and asked if they wanted anything else. Derek gave her his card before Stiles had even fumbled his wallet out, and quirked an eyebrow at his glower.

"You offered to buy me a coffee---or the equivalent thereof, anyway--not lunch," he pointed out. Derek shrugged and smirked, earning him an exasperated eyeroll. "Okay, fine. But I'm contributing to the tip. Or covering it. I don't know, since you didn't even let me see how much lunch was."

He put his pencils away, turning the notebook and grinning down at the designs before stowing it in his bag as well. He gave Derek a narrow eyed look once the bag was closed. "Not rejecting to my ideas anymore?"

"This one has merit." Derek shrugged, looking away. "You're more serious about it, now. That goes a long way."

Derek didn't look back at Stiles, but his voice was warm as he said, "Yeah. I guess I am."

\-----

It wasn't until Stiles had left that Derek realized he didn't have his running gear. That he'd look a bit odd running through town in jeans and boots. 

He sighed. It was a long walk to the edge of the preserve.

Maybe first thing in the morning after an intense moon run wasn't the best time for him to make plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a note, this chapter marks the beginning of a transition into a different sort of time scale. In the first seven chapters, the story has covered from November through August. In the next _nine_ chapters, I still haven't gotten all the way through October.
> 
> For anyone who starts thrashing in misery at this comment, I would like to point out it's partly because of the Stiles and Derek interaction I have to cover. The slower pace time will start taking is a good sign, I promise!


	8. September

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, hey! **Chapter 7 was posted yesterday.** If you don't subscribe to the story, you might have missed that.
> 
> Also! There is a line of Spanish in this chapter. Translation at the end, but I'm hoping context and actions will make the meaning clear.

For the kids, September meant that classes started again. The first day Matt, Stacia, and Jacob left for school was...bad.

"What do you mean he's calling out sick?" Vic hissed. There was the muffled sound of a door closing from her end of the connection, barely audible over his mother's sigh. "He doesn't _get_ sick. He _can't_ get sick."

"He can be _wounded_ , Victoria." And no one was foolish enough to argue with his mother when she used that voice, all steel and power and not a hint of give to it.

Derek lost track of the words after that, drawn into the pain searing down his leg. He tried to focus on the taste and feel of the leather in his mouth, on his breathing, on Tania's voice or Peter's steady heartbeat.

It wasn't enough when new pain cut in over the old. The world flickered on the edge of black, and Derek pushed it over the edge.

\-----

When he woke again, his leg still hurt, but it was in the vague, itchy sort of way that meant his body was probably trying to eat stitches.

He was on the green couch by the smell of the blanket draped over his shoulder. Even so close to his nose, the blanket was faint in comparison to the lingering impression of blood that clung to the room. He was stretched out across the length of the couch, with Tania's thigh under his head and her hand smoothing his hair back. And she was...

Apologizing.

Derek shook his head, pushing himself up. "Stop it, Tania. It's not your fault."

"I don't know what else we can blame them on." Tania twisted her hands together and scowled down at them, as though they held the secrets she was looking for. "She's better now, but the smell of blood was--" Tania sighed. "Maria and Peter are out running with her now." She lifted her head to give Derek a wry look. "I think she's forgotten that we let everyone else go to the 'real' school, but not her."

But she'd remember when they came home, if not sooner. Derek groaned and Tania nodded, sharing the thought.

"This is a horrible day," Derek remarked. "Do you need to take the stitches out? They feel like they're--" Tania was already shaking her head. Derek bent his leg to the side and leaned down to look at it. There were two scars, one a neat line down the back of his thigh and the other a rough swipe across it, just above the knee. There were no stitches.

None visible, anyway.

"I had to use string, because they're all internal." And werewolves didn't have the luxury of stitches that would dissolve. "Gwen cut through one of the tendons when she tackled you, so we had to reattach the muscle. The stitches were just to hold it in place until your healing caught up."

"Great."

Tania barked a laugh, shaking her head. "Take it easy. This isn't a light injury."

He hummed agreement. "What about you? You're supposed to be on duty today."

"McCall was able to switch shifts with me. I've covered enough family emergencies for her that she still owes me." Tania grimaced at her watch. "I should go clean up, though. You'll be alright?"

"Lots of food and fluids, walk cautiously, don't be an idiot," he recited obediently, before shrugging and adding, "and don't dig the stitches out, no matter how much they itch." Tania laughed, and he gave her a smile that was probably weak, even if it was sincere. "I'll be fine."

She smiled and leaned in to nuzzle his hair before leaving.

\-----

The next day, Derek didn't bother looking up when the bell rang. He'd heard Stiles coming from half a block away, the combination of his heart rate and his steps unmistakable.

"Hey," Stiles offered instead of a greeting, before draping himself over the counter to squint up at him. "You okay?"

Derek snorted and gave Stiles a gentle shove against the forehead to get him off the counter. "I'm fine."

"But you weren't here yesterday." Stiles snagged his stool and glared at Derek. "Vic said you were sick."

"Stomach bug," Derek grunted, turning his attention back to his sketchbook. "Not pleasant. Done now."

Stiles paused a moment and Derek could _feel_ his stare. "Wow. You're so...wordy today."

Sighing, Derek swapped his professional sketchbook out for the one he kept for random doodling. It was already more than half full, mostly of 'conversations' with Stiles.

"Ahunh, words suck. Got it." Stiles nodded, pulling out one of his own pencils. "I'm going to have homework like this, this year. Eventually, anyway. Supposedly." He made a face at the page and started drawing in a...giraffe? Maybe? It had a long neck, at least. "I figured, I could try art or I could do second year Spanish and, really? I suck pretty hard at Spanish."

Derek smirked and gave the giraffe thing a speech bubble. _Mis amigos necesitan ser castigados._

Stiles stared at it for a long moment before pointing at Derek without looking up. "Jerk." Derek laughed, and hid his grin in one of his hands when Stiles finally looked up to make a face at him. "You know, I didn't have to come here and make sure you were okay. I could have stayed home and played video games. But noooo, I wanted to see you." Stiles rolled his eyes extravagantly, but he was smiling. "I have one last week of freedom, dude. Let me enjoy it, would you?"

In response, Derek drew a jar around the giraffe.

He'd forgotten. Stiles would be going back to school, only coming in after class.

He'd start smelling like high school again, instead of Tinge.

\-----

There were no more serious injuries.

Gwen was moved to sleep with her Aunt Maria and Uncle David for a while, since they were the only ones who _always_ had flexibility in their schedules. Stacia moved back in with Jacob, and Gwen's things were moved into one of the empty rooms, so her scent could start filling the space.

If Stacia and Jacob were gone already when Gwen got up, she'd whine a bit but she didn't. lose. control. 

And if she did, Maria was there with a growl, a heavy hand, a howl. Because Gwen was only six, but she was still a werewolf and she _would_ obey her alpha.

Whether she wanted to or not.

\-----

The math assignments showed up first.

"Every other teacher needs to assign readings, or gives the students a bit of a transition period," Stiles groused. "But not math. Oh no. Why would we need to review before diving into a new and wonderful world of formulae? I don't know either."

Derek finished making a schedule change and shoved the appointment book away before sliding over to watch Stiles work. 

He hadn't brought math in, last year. It just hadn't shown up.

It was starting to make sense why.

Stiles flicked a pen back and forth in his left hand, the pencil in his right tracing out symbols and numbers with hardly any hesitation. The problems were like waterfalls, a starting point with a steady downward flow of numbers. Stiles only paused when he flipped the pencil up between two fingers and checked something on his calculator.

Derek shook his head as Stiles made a frustrated noise and flipped to the back of his page for the last three lines of a problem. "I hated math."

He'd never thought it looked beautiful before.

"Yeah, well." Stiles shrugged, frowning as he set up the next problem on a new page. "I figured Lydia would notice me if I was good enough at it." He paused to snort, and didn't look up to catch Derek's frown. His scent was...strange, twisted up with conflicting impressions. His voice was off as well; self-depreciating and not-quite-hurt. Sore, in a way that didn't relate to his throat at all. "The stupid thing is, this class is going to be easier for me than it is for her. Math's just...it's straightforward. It's easy." 

Stiles looked up, smiling wryly. "But that's the problem. It's easy for me, because it's straightforward and I can follow along fine. It's harder for Lydia because she's _brilliant_." More sore-ness there, and frustration alongside honest admiration that was...honestly, strong enough to be a bit disturbing. It made Derek want to growl and drag Stiles home with him. "She's just... _amazing_. And she's going to change the world, and win a Nobel Prize, and probably eventually be the first write-in presidential candidate."

Derek hoped his face was conveying his skepticism sufficiently, because he didn't think it would all fit in his voice. "And this means she'll have trouble in math?"

"Not _trouble_ ," Stiles scoffed, waving the idea off as ridiculous. "Mostly, she knows how to do so much _more_ already. It's hard for her to hold her back to just the simple stuff."

"Simple," Derek stated, hoping his disbelief came through as he picked up Stiles' last page, eyeing the problem. He couldn't even tell what it had been asking, let alone what Stiles had done to answer it. He did suspect that the banana in the margin was extraneous, though.

"Well. Straightforward." Stiles shrugged again, already caught up in the next problem. "Have rules. Have problem. Apply rules to problem until problem becomes answer. Double check. Done."

He was already halfway down the next page.

"I would've thought you'd like math," Stiles teased, glancing up with a grin. "No words."

Derek watched the pencil flow from one symbol to another, considering the lines it made, before sliding back and pulling out his personal sketchbook. "Give me a math problem. An _easy_ one."

The pencil stopped moving as Stiles looked up, frowning in confusion. "Uh... What is three cubed?"

It felt like a flower, so Derek drew three oblongs, curving up from a central point. He layered petals around them, one point for each oblong and another two overlapping the base of each. The petals grew smaller and he did it again, three petals to one, from the previous set. He drew in the sepals and some base greenery, because the image wouldn't be complete without it, and slid the book over to Stiles.

"...just becaue it's a different language, doesn't mean it's the right one?" Stiles guessed, adjusting the book so he could get a better look.

Derek nodded and pulled his sketchbook back, contemplating what an equation would look like as an arm band.

\-----

At the end of the week, Jacob was waiting for Derek at the treeline when he ran home. A quick glance toward the house showed no adults in easy range, but his dad was sitting on the porch with Stacia in his lap and Danielle curled up against his side. So Jacob wasn't entirely unsupervised, at least.

Derek crouched next to Jacob, letting his bag drop to indicate he'd be willing to wait if he needed to.

"I miss Gwen," Jac finally offered, scowling at the dirt.

Sighing, Derek ruffled Jacob's hair and pulled him in for a hug, smiling when he wriggled closer. "Not surprised. We can't let her hurt anybody, though."

Jacob nodded, sniffling a bit now that his face was hidden. "She bit her mom."

Derek froze, looking toward the house again. There wasn't a pull that meant his family was in distress, and the reek of anxiety wasn't there. But.

"What did Mom tell you?"

Jacob grumbled in his chest and rubbed his face against Derek's shoulder before pulling away and frowning up at him. "She said bitten wolves don't feel things right. That they're still like humans." His frown deepened, and he sounded doubtful. "But that's not right. Grandma and--"

Derek pressed a finger against Jacob's nose, quieting him. "Tania was only bitten a few years ago. The others were bitten before I was born. It's different. She's still more human than wolf. It's why Tania stays home sometimes, when we're playing. It's not...her instincts aren't the same, yet. And she feels things differently."

His father had explained that, the first time he and Laura had tried to play with Tania after she'd taken the bite, and he doubted either of them would ever forget it. Their mother hadn't used _words_ when she'd expressed how upset with them she was.

Jacob nodded sullently, and Derek took his finger away. "Is Gwen gonna be okay?"

"I hope so."

\-----

Roughly a third of the family drove Danielle down (and down, and further down) to UCI for her move-in weekend. Derek and Laura held her smushed between them in the minivan the entire drive down.

"Oh my gooood," she whimpered, leaning across Derek's chest to look out the window. "How did I think I'd survive this? There aren't any _trees_."

Laura flopped over her back, ruffling a hand through her hair. "There are so. And I heard this rumor somewhere that they have a pretty good comp-sci program."

Danielle grumbled and hid her face against Derek's shoulder, and they all ignored Peter when their uncle had to actually pull over until he had his laughter under control.

\-----

The trip was epic, and Laura was no longer allowed that far south until Danielle either left or specifically invited her. But honestly, Derek just wanted to forget the whole embarassing thing.

\-----

That Monday brought Stiles right after school, fidgeting and reeking of nerves in a way he hadn't for months.

Derek let him take his time as they settled in with a sketchbook. Waited while Stiles abandoned half-finished doodles to frown at the page or just move straight to something else.

When his leg started twitching, Derek flicked his nose with the blunt end of his pencil. "What."

Stiles scowled and rubbed at his nose. "Hey! Abuse!"

Derek resisted the urge to roll his eyes, knowing that a flat stare would get results faster.

"Fine, bossy," Stiles scoffed, twisting and bending to get a grip on his bag to pull it up. The move exposed a thick wedge of skin along his side, and Stiles flailed for a moment once he was upright, trying to keep his bag balanced while tugging his shirt down and belatedly remembering that he was still holding a pencil.

The folder he tossed to Derek was plain and blue, with the glossy kind of cover that didn't take doodles well. 

"Go on," Stiles waved at the folder, refusing to look up from where he was fussing with his bag. "It's just my art homework. It's not going to bite you."

He flipped the folder open and...it was a maze, he thought. There were no obvious entry points but there were double backs and dead ends. But the real problem was the shape it made.

Three spirals, caught in a circle.

"I want to invert the colors for the final version, so the paths and the background are black, and the lines are white," Stiles explained, curling over his backpack and frowning at the page. "But that's a lot of coloring, so I need to finalize the design pretty soon."

For a high school art project, what he had now was probably fine. The lines were uneven and one of the spirals was offset, but the idea was there. "What was the assignment?"

"We were supposed to make creative use of having just two colors to work with." Stiles rolled his eyes. "I think about half the class is splitting an image in half and pulling a harlequin effect. That just didn't strike me as particularly _creative_."

Derek smiled, tracing the maze's path out from the center to try and figure out where the beginning point was supposed to be. Unless that was it. "You could always use contrasting colors."

"Oh my god, don't even," Stiles moaned, slumping in his seat. "I like complementary contrasts as much as the next budding art geek, but _come on_."

Derek snickered. He remembered what the early stages of art classes were like. More importantly, he remembered what the other _people_ were like. Namely, horrifying. "So what did you want my help with?"

"The circles are killing me," Stiles admitted. "I know how the lines should go, by this point, but I just can't get the circles in the right position so it works. This one's off, somehow, I think." Stiles pointed to the spiral that was slightly too far out, slightly offset between the others. "But I don't know how to fix it."

"Stop thinking circles. Start with triangles."

They worked through creating an equilateral triangle. Through making a compass with a bit of string and a pin. Through finding the center for the outer circle.

The new page was a mess of pencil marks and smudged ink, but Stiles was going to end up tracing it regardless, so it didn't matter that much.

Stiles shook his head at the page, tucking it back into his folder and grinning at Derek. "Thanks. I mean, this is the sort of stuff I was _hoping_ I'd learn. Not that the vanishing point and negative space aren't cool, but it doesn't help so much with the actual pen to paper part."

" _Useful_ , not just cool," Derek corrected flicking Stiles' forehead this time. "And you have us for help with technique."

"Ahunh." Stiles laughed and scooted his stool over so he could lean against Derek's side. He smiled and ducked his head when Derek leaned back. Apple. Spice.

"Seriously, though. Thanks."

Derek hummed and brought a hand up to scuffle over the remains of Stiles' hair. "What is it with you and threes, anyway?"

Three cubed. Three snakes. Three coils. Three spirals, in a maze.

Stiles shrugged. "I dunno. It's been a thing, lately."

\-----

Gwen hadn't bit anyone in a month. Hadn't lost control either, though she was still prone to shifting without warning and going a bit feral. She hadn't _hurt_ anyone, though. It was improvement.

Her parents tried taking her into town as a special treat, when she went through an entire week of handwriting practice without having a fit. Nothing went wrong.

Gwen had a room to herself, away from anybody she might accidentally hurt, and sleep was no longer a horrible lie.

It wasn't perfect, but it was good enough to let them relax.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Mis amigos necesitan ser castigados._ \- My friends need to be punished.
> 
> If there's STILL an error in the Spanish, please let me know.


	9. Spirals and Threes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm short on wit today. This is my last week of my undergraduate career, and I'm attempting to apply to graduate schools at the same time. Some lovely people pointed out a few errors in the last few chapters, which I greatly appreciate. I haven't had a chance to fix them yet, but plan to before the next update.
> 
> And because it's been a while, massive thanks to my enigmatic roommate for ripping this story apart until it's better. <3

There were a few very specific advantages to being a werewolf tattoo artist. He could smell when someone was too inebriated to get a tattoo, regardless of how they were acting. He could smell when ink had gone off, when the pain was getting to be too much, or if a client was ill. Even with the gloves in the way, he could feel a flinch or a twitch coming before it reached the surface of the skin. 

Derek smelled Stiles before the bell rang, but he couldn't look up. It wouldn't do any good anyway, he was working behind the wall and couldn't see the door from where he was. And besides that--

He gritted his teeth and pulled the machine up and away again as the scent of the skin he was working on soured and a faint tremor shivered up against his fingers. Another spasm flinched across the man's back and Derek straightened for a moment, rolling his neck out while he had the chance.

Movement and red at the edge of his vision brought his attention up to see Stiles leaning around the wall to wave. Derek twisted his lips up in what was hopefully a wry smile and nodded back before turning his attention to the client again. Stiles took one look at the guy in the chair, grimaced and vanished back around the wall.

"Sure you don't want to break this up?" Derek offered. Again.

"Just finish it."

Derek rolled his eyes, since the client was looking the other way regardless, and examined his work. It was mostly just black work and filling in. It shouldn't be taking this long. It wouldn't take this long if the pain tolerance the idiot had boasted about apparently didn't extend to needles. At all. 

It wasn't something Derek minded, usually. They charged by time, after all. But the client was rude, he was making Derek miss out on part of a Stiles visit, and there was also the fucking tattoo itself.

Any irony or amusement that had ever existed in doing wolf related tattoos had vanished a long, long time ago. 

Half an hour later, Twitchy finally hit his endorphin rush and they managed a decent rhythm for a while, with Derek coloring in bands within the design rather than going straight across, to give the guy's skin a bit of a break. It had the additional benefit of looking intentional, since Twitchy was obviously hung up on appearances and there was no way they were going to have time for the whole thing.

Cara leaned around and knocked on his side of the wall. "Hey. Don't forget your consult. You're about five over already."

Derek bit back a snarl and looked at the time before cleaning up the band he was on. 

"What?" Twitchy half turned when Derek set the machine aside. He sounded like less of an ass when he was doped up on endorphins. 

"Out of time," Derek said, as he wiped the guy's back down and set the bandage in place. "Cara will help you schedule another session and go over your after care instructions again. We'll probably need at least forty five minutes to finish, with how twitchy you are to start, but it shouldn't take much longer than that."

Twitchy grunted but didn't protest, slipping carefully into his shirt and leaving with only minimal prompting. Derek stayed behind to clean up as quickly as he could, wiping the chair down and prepping the machines he'd used for the autoclave. 

He'd forgotten about the consult entirely, since someone else had scheduled it in who knows how long ago. It hadn't been a name he recognized, and his brain kept trying to correct it to Stalin, which was unlikely. So now his day was even more annoying, since it meant he was probably going to not get any time with Stiles at all.

Cara and Twitchy were still going over after care when he finished up and came out. And he _really_ needed to remember that guy's name, so he didn't call him that out loud. Stiles was curled up on the bench with...Cara's portfolio propped open on his knees, completely covering his face. The hell. His scent was angry and worried, which was new and didn't make any sense.

There was also no sign of Stalin, or anybody who might potentially be associated to that name.

Derek reached around Cara to grab the appointment book and flipped it open. Twitchy was Whitte. There was probably more to his name than that, but it was good enough. And his missing consultation was Stilin, not Stalin.

Whitte-whatever finally left, still a bit dazed but clutching his aftercare instructions like something precious. Which they were. He didn't have anyone else with him, which was unfortunate but not Derek's business.

Cara grabbed the appointment book back and gave him a pointed look, and Derek huffed back at her. "What?"

"Your consultation?" She prompted, gesturing toward Stiles with the appointment book. "Like I told you?"

Stiles was watching them over the top of Cara's portfolio, and his scent was losing the angry pepper note. Derek blinked at him then turned back to glare at Cara. "The book says Stilin, not Stiles."

"Yeah. Stilinski? His last name?" Cara stared back at him, eyes slowly widening. "Oh my god, Derek. Did you really not know his last name?" She broke out laughing when he glared harder, her scent spiking with nearly hysterical glee. "You are, like, the _worst stalker ever_."

"Because I'm not a stalker!" It was so hard not to growl. Cara was family, she'd understand. Stiles...wasn't. Really, really wasn't. And wouldn't.

Stiles was also laughing at this point, while hiding underneath Cara's portfolio as though that would help.

Derek walked around the counter and snatched the portfolio away so Stiles could see exactly how unamused he was. "Stilinski. The sheriff?"

"Ye-up. That'd be my dad." Stiles nodded enthusiastically, wincing when he bumped his head back against a leg and flailing to try and catch it before it could topple over.

Crap.

"I am _definitely_ not a stalker."

He hadn't meant to say that, hadn't even been entirely aware he'd been thinking it, but it made Cara collapse against the wall and Stiles nearly fall off the bench laughing, which flooded Tinge with green, and bright, and _happy_. So it wasn't all bad.

Derek scoffed and wandered toward the back for his things while Stiles recovered. But his scent spiked into a metallic note that clashed badly with Cara, and he was only a few steps behind Derek when he grabbed his jacket off the hook.

He turned back to look at Stiles, confused. His hand was right on the strap of his bag, his shoulders were relaxing out from a clench that had drawn them in and up, the laxness of his face implied relief, even if he was rolling his eyes and doing his best to put on a show of exasperation.

Fear. That had been fear.

Of...Derek getting his things?

Of Derek leaving, maybe. That seemed more likely, but still strange.

"Floyd's?" he offered, watching Stiles' shoulders slump even further as a smile came back to his face.

"Yeah, okay," Stiles nodded along with his words, adjusting the grip he had on his bag. "I guess it's been a while since you've eaten, yeah?"

Derek jerked his head toward the door as he grabbed his bag and followed Stiles out. "Yeah. And twitchy clients always make me hungry."

Rabbits were twitchy. It was an unfortunate association.

Stiles laughed, loud and bright. "Twitchy? Oh, man. That is good to know."

That sounded familiar, and familiar might explain why Stiles had been hiding. Derek frowned at him. "Did you know him?" 

"Yeah, we have a couple of classes together." Stiles shrugged, like that wasn't weird as hell. Twitchy didn't look anywhere near Stiles' age. "I won't use this newfound information against him, though. Or, well..." Stiles grimaced and shrugged. "I'll try not to, anyway. I know that'd look bad for you. It's just-- He's a jerk. It'll be nice to remind myself that he's 'twitchy' if I have to deal with him."

There wasn't much he could say to that, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. 

Floyd's was coming down off the last dregs of the lunch rush, from the look of things. A waitress paused in wiping a table down to wave them in and toward a bank of seating options. Stiles shot her a salute and snagged a menu from the stack before seeking out a table based on, apparently, how clean the surface looked.

Stiles pushed the menu across the table to Derek and grinned when he just pushed it toward the edge of the table.

"Menus are for wimps, huh?'

Derek snorted. "We could have done this the last time we were here, you know."

Stiles shrugged and worked a folder out of his bag. Derek wasn't sure if he was intrigued or disappointed by the fact that it wasn't the same folder Vic and Tony had been passing back and forth at the beginning of summer. "I had the idea then, but I hadn't finished my research yet. I haven't found exactly what I want, but I've got a load of not-quite-rights."

"Is this a different piece than what you were working on with the others?"

For the amount of work they'd put into it and the number of short appointments they'd had for it, whatever they'd been working on should be fairly massive and intricate. But it was _Stiles_. Derek had spent nearly three times the amount of time on Cara's breast cancer fence than he would have for a usual client and he wasn't alone in that little quirk. Tattoos were personal, and when you knew the person the process of designing them just...took longer, sometimes. Sometimes, because the artist's own sense of the person went against the design they wanted.

"Oh yeah. Totally different tattoo." Stiles nodded with a playful grin. "I am apparently a horrible person. I made them collaborate."

The waitress appeared out of nowhere, making Derek flinch and possibly growl, if her startled jump was any indication. Stiles, thankfully, just barreled in with his order as though nothing was out of place, and the waitress shook off her reaction in favor of trying to keep up.

"You getting the same thing?" Stiles shot at him, barely waiting for Derek to start nodding before he'd gone back to the waitress. "And a double cheese bacon, everything but pickle, 'cause he's a weirdo, and a salad with Italian instead of fries."

"A-hunh." The waitress' eyebrows arched up as she glanced between them, but she picked up the menu and walked off when Derek didn't make any corrections.

He stared at Stiles. Stiles stared back.

"You memorized my order."

"I _remembered_ it, that's different. Who gets a burger and doesn't get fries? I mean. Blasphemy!" He shook his head as though to clear his brain. "Besides, you remembered I don't usually drink coffee, and I've _never gone for coffee with you_."

"You brought me my favorite coffee."

"That was your sister's fault."

They stared again, until Stiles snagged his water for a long, pointed drink. 

"What do you have Tony and Vic working on that you needed both of them?"

"Well, I didn't really _need_ both of them. Tony probably could have done the whole thing but that's not..." Stiles frowned, shrugging uncomfortably. "I didn't want that."

Derek waited, patient in a way that only came from getting answers after _months_ of wondering. Or hunting rabbits.

"I had a lot to think about, after seeing what you did for Cara. I wanted something like that. That really meant something. But when I thought about it, I had four things to represent, not one. And I had four friends. So it made sense to make it a--sort of a group thing? So I have all the designs I want, and something to remember everybody at the parlor by. Y'know?" Stiles nodded, not waiting for Derek to respond. "So, yeah. Cara's going to do the ink, Vic and Tony did the design. 'Cause Cara's normal style's just...yeah." Stiles gave an exaggerated grimace and shudder. "Not what I'm after."

"So where do I come in?'

Stiles looked like he was about a minute away from chewing on his folder, just so he'd have something to do other than talk. About this, anyway. "Well. Four things, right? I wanted...I wanted something for my mom. But I didn't want it to just be about what-- Yeah. Anyway," he coughed, clearing his throat before continuing. "But that's important too. And my dad, because he's--I think he got the short end of the stick, y'know? He had to deal with--with losing her, and raising me, and just...everything. So he has to be there too. So that's what the others are working on. And it's all one piece, because it should be. It's all mashed together." He took a deep breath and pushed the folder across the table to Derek, finally meeting his eyes. "This is for me."

Derek held the stare for a few moments before he took the folder. Stiles glanced down at the movement, which let Derek look away. He flipped the folder open and nearly stopped breathing.

The top sheet wasn't art, but a photocopy out of a book on the meaning and usage of the triskele. The next two pages were images, variations on the triple knot and triskele with notes scribbled in next to them. An image of three hares in knotwork had just a _LOLno_ next to it, and a version with hounds said _~~maybe?~~ no_. All the knots had a single diagonal line drawn through them. The notes on the spirals were more specific.

_No endless line_ , next to one of the more labyrinth-like variations that had a single line doubling back on itself to create maze with no entrances or exits. _No outlines_ , next to a variation with jagged points coming off the spirals where spirals weren't filled in. There was a triskele with a thick X through it and a note of _WTF_ because someone had apparently done a plaid-filled triskele.

_No central gap_ pointed to three different triskeles, one with a triangle at the center, one with a starburst, and the third with a yin-yang (which also had _trying too hard_ scribbled in next to it). The triangle-gap had a second note of _better spirals_ while the starburst said _way too swirly_.

There were notes on the amount of space between the lines of the spirals, on how thick the lines were, on every embellishment that had been added to the lines, on clean lines in contrast to more organic ones. _Not plants_ existed alongside _rep 3 at tip of spiral - only there or all through?_.

The next few pages were obviously Stiles in origin. The overall shape was fairly similar to begin with and only grew more consistent with practice. The lines were just slightly thicker than the gaps between them, the spirals met at a central join a bit thicker than the individual lines, and each spiral had roughly three turns to it. Most of them were a bit uneven, a little lopsided and offset. But they were just practice. The ones toward the end had traces of triangles behind them.

Plates appeared on the table. Derek distantly noticed the waitress as not-a-threat and moved the papers out of the way by instinct. The last pages were hand written notes on the triskele, clips of other resources that had notes and highlighting worked into them, and the notes on the rejected symbols that were most likely just there because they'd been part of the process. The very last page was just a list. Animal, vegetable, other at the top tier, with various options and meanings with notes for contradictions before the page became too much of a mess of cramped text to deal with.

Out of habit, he checked the back of the page and the back flap of the folder just in case there was anything else (a drawing of a triskele using snakes on the folder itself, with the note _poor snakes!_ pointing at where their tails merged) before closing the folder.

"Do you even know you do that?"

Derek looked up, surprised to see that Stiles' plate was untouched. Somewhat surprised to realize their meal had arrived at all. "Do what?"

Stiles shrugged and gestured at the folder. "You check the backs of things. You did it with my notebook one time, and that was before we'd even started drawing. I mean, you were helping me with my history last year, and you just flipped through my notebook once we'd covered the last of my notes, to see if I'd written anything else on the rest of the, like, fifty pages. You checked the backs of the cards Cara got for her birthday, when she passed them to you."

Derek raised his eyebrows and waited until Stiles huffed and looked away, as though that would keep Derek from noticing that he was blushing. "Which one of us is supposedly the stalker?'

"Hey, I'm just observant. Sheriff's kid, remember? Which, it's still really amusing that you didn't know that." Stiles grabbed a gigantic curl of a fry and shoved it in his mouth.

For all they managed to talk, they'd never really talked about Stiles, he realized. Or himself, really. Definitely not his family, and that was starting to feel like it might need to happen.

Maybe he could ask Vic for tips on bringing up the whole werewolf thing. But...

When had this escalated? Derek rubbed at his eyes, trying to remember when exactly Stiles had become someone he wanted around all the time, in a more than platonic way. _Jailbait_ , he reminded himself firmly.

"...okay, you're starting to make me worried I've, like, offended your honor with my choice or something. We are technically supposed to be talking about the...you know, tattoo thing? Am I just-- I'm starting to feel like I should have talked with you about this first, and that's kind of weird. Do you..."

Derek reached across the table to nudge Stiles' plate toward him. He took the prompt and grabbed another fry to shove into his mouth.

"Not offended. Just..." It was a nasty thought, itching at the back of his mind, and Derek frowned, catching Stiles' eyes again. "Have you talked to anybody else about this?" he asked, tapping a finger against the folder. "Vic? Cara? ...Tony?"

Anybody, anybody at all, surname Hale?

Stiles shook his head and shoved another fry into his mouth instead of talking, which...probably for the best.

"Where do you want it?"

Stiles coughed and there was a sudden spike of embarrassment and arousal in his scent as he jerked his attention up from Derek's mouth to his eyes again. "Uh..."

Derek covered his eyes with a hand and dragged it down his face, inhaling slowly to try and disrupt Stiles' scent a bit. But he'd just had his hands all over something Stiles had spent considerable time holding, touching and carrying, so it wasn't very effective. " _The tattoo_."

Stiles coughed, red in the face but gesturing to the left side of his chest. "Ah, here. Heart-ish. The other design's going to go on my back, in the same spot."

That was a relief, at least. Derek nodded and cleared his throat, dragging his own plate closer. "We should talk about this. Back at the parlor."

Stiles squinted his eyes but actually finished chewing before responding. "Tomorrow?"

"Once we're done here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will admit, I'm a bit worried I should be running and hiding for ending this chapter here. Um, sorry?
> 
> Have some more [amazing](http://www.monkido.net/gallery5/flashindex.html) [tattoo](http://www.lartdupoint.com/) [portfolios](http://www.dillonfortetattoo.com/#!portfolio/ckiy) [and](http://2spirittattoo.com/artists/roxx/) [a tumbr](http://fuckyeahblackwork.tumblr.com/).


	10. Worst. Day. Ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooo. Sorry about the delay! Also, I apologize for the lack of tattoo links today. I'm actually out and away from my normal computer right now, so I don't have the bookmarks list with the links of awesome tattoos for sharing. So instead, I will share a mystery. I think [this man's tattoos](http://mensmensmens.tumblr.com/post/27652690301/jayjtaime-tattoo-on-his-left-forearm-of-pine) are a lovely display of single tone work. But I have only found this image uncredited on tumblr and pinterest. So if anyone happens to just know who this guy is, on the off chance he's well known, please let me know! I'll do some digging and see if I can't turn up an artist to go with the tattoos.

Cara made a face at Derek when they came back. "I know this is a great working environment, but really?"

"Hush, you." Derek shucked his jacket off and set it aside, and pushed Stiles toward the bathroom as soon as he'd put his bag down.

"Oh my god!" Cara trailed after them, sounding half affronted and half alarmed. "Do I need to call his father, Derek? _Derek!_ "

Stiles was nearly as red as his hoodie by the time Derek pulled the door closed behind them, and his eyes looked like they were trying to pop out of his skull when Derek started taking his shirt off. 

"Oookay. If you get any more naked, I think I really _do_ have to call my dad," he said, his pitch slowly rising along with the intensity of his scent. "Which, just so you know, I probably wouldn't if this weren't, like, totally random and..." He trailed off as Derek turned his back. 

Derek glanced over one shoulder when he heard Stiles take a step forward, catching sight of a hand being pulled back mid-reach. And he _wanted_. "You can--It's fully healed. I've had this for years."

And refreshed it at least once a year, but it wasn't like that mattered. The tattoo healed almost as fast as Vic could lay the ink down.

"That's..." Stiles touched his back then, just fingertips trailing briefly along a curved line, then pressing gently as he mapped out widths. But then the touch was gone again. "That is so freaky. It's just the right amount of swirly and the gaps are the right size."

Derek nodded, not entirely willing to respond yet. He was wrapped up in musk-spice-apple, and had to suppress a shiver when Stiles's hand came back, started tracing the spirals. He didn't want to disrupt that. Ever.

He could see the lines of it, in his head, lighting up with a warm glow wherever Stiles touched.

Eventually, Stiles let out an embarrassed cough and pulled away, fisting his hand and pressing it against his jeans as though he'd just figured out he had been very close to petting Derek. Like he wanted to protect the lingering sensation in his own skin. "Right. So. You asking if I'd talked to anybody else about this makes--more sense, now."

Derek grunted and stretched his neck out before pulling his shirt back on and turning around. "If you'd wanted the same placement, I'd have been skeptical of your highly informative head shaking."

That got a laugh out of Stiles, at least. "Uh, yeah. I could see that. But, ah, yeah that's--that's exactly what I wanted." Stiles made a face and rubbed the back of his head. "Is there some sort of rule against getting the same tattoo as your artist? I mean, if he's a friend, or," Stiles jittered, stepping back and looking to the side abruptly, baring his neck in a way that put unhappy knots in Derek's stomach. Because even if it wasn't instinct for Stiles, the gesture matched the nerves he could smell. "You know, someone you know. And it's not like I did it on purpose or anything, I just..."

"I like it, actually."

Stiles froze, one hand knotted in the hem of his shirt and eyes wide when he jerked his eyes back to Derek's face, his heartrate speeding up. "Uh. What?"

Musk. Spice. Apple. Twice as strong as before.

He hadn't meant to say that, but Stiles apparently just did that to him. And it felt right. Strongly, _intensely_ right, so he stepped closer and said it again. "I like it."

"You..."

Someone rapped, _hard_ , on the bathroom door. " _Derek_."

The bottom dropped out of his stomach and Stiles' eyes went wide and concerned at whatever he read in Derek's face. Derek hurried to open the door and step back so his mother could easily see that both of them were fully dressed, unharmed, and didn't smell of anything questionable.

... _too_ questionable, anyway. She probably wouldn't recognize Stiles' arousal, but she defnitely knew Derek's.

Her eyes narrowed, glinting like they were only not turning red out of sheer strength of will as she looked both of them over.

And oh, did she smell _pissed_.

"Uh. Hi! You're--family, I take it?" 

His mother's focus shifted abruptly to Stiles, and Derek tried not to slump in relief. Letting his...argh. Letting _Stiles_ take the brunt of that wasn't exactly fair.

Then again, he didn't know that yet.

His mother smiled, no hint of teeth showing through. "I'm Maria. Derek's mother."

Stiles' shoulders twitched, but then he was stepping forward, smiling as he offered his hand. The scent of nerves and determination was almost enough to drown out the traces of spice and apple. "It's great to meet you! Derek doesn't talk about you much, but I guess that probably shouldn't surprise you. I mean, you've known him his whole life so it shouldn't be much of a surprise to you that he's not a big talker, right?"

"That's right. And you're Stiles?" His mother's smile widened, her eyes sliding past Stiles' shoulder to settle on him, far more amused than angry, now.

And when exactly had Stiles positioned himself between them? Derek didn't need to be protected from his own _mother_.

Much.

"Yeah, but. How'd you know _that_. I mean." He gestured broadly toward Derek. With both hands, just to make his point absolutely clear. " _Derek_."

Maria Hale laughed, covering her mouth with her free hand and moving to pat Stiles on the shoulder with the other. "Vic's family too, though a bit more removed."

"It's a good thing I already knew the Hales were a big group, otherwise this would be a devastating revelation," Stiles said, perfectly deadpan. 

"Mother," Derek cut in. "What are you doing here?"

Stiles frowned at that, but the expression was barely a flicker, there and gone in a beat of his heart.

"You alarmed Cara when you came in off hours, shoved the sheriff's son into a bathroom and locked the door behind you," she said calmly, widening her eyes at him for emphasis.

Behind her, the edge of Cara that he could see slipped out of view, and-- Yeah, that sour-sweet-hot-metal was distressed-Cara all over.

He scoffed and turned away, showing his throat enough to make a point. "It wasn't _locked_..."

"Sorry, Ms. Hale. I think I kinda freaked him out."

His mother's attention zeroed back in on Stiles and she tilted her head inquisitively. "Explain."

It was...odd, watching Stiles interact with someone from outside Tinge. Strange to watch his mannerisms and remember what he'd thought of Stiles when he'd first met him. The way Stiles licked his lips during pauses, the loose gestures, the way his fingers sometimes twitched and shifted against the air. The way he so often looked away while he was talking, unless he was making a point.

None of it meant dishonesty or nerves, though they all increased when he was anxious or trying to get away with something. Mostly, it was just _Stiles_.

"We had a consult today, and--I kind of asked for, um, the same tattoo that Derek has? On his back." Stiles' shoulders bunched up and he turned around to give Derek an odd look. "And I really hope your mom knows you have ink, considering where you work. I don't really feel like I should need to apologize for this."

The front bell rang and Cara skittered past the bathroom on her way to greet whoever had just come in while Derek's mother barked a laugh.

"No, I know about that."

"Look, we should probably go." Derek offered, his voice lowered and tilting his head toward the front. "Have this discussion somewhere else, maybe?"

Maria's smile went a little predatory as she turned toward the back door, urging Stiles along with her. "We could bring Stiles back to meet the rest of the family. Would your father mind you joining us for dinner?"

Derek did his best to sit on a whine as he slunk after them.

Worst. Day. Ever.

\-----

"I am still tempted to take off some skin for that little stunt you pulled, young man."

Derek slumped down a bit further in his seat, not taking his eyes off the road. Off the jeep his mother was following to the police station. "I didn't lose control. I just--I needed to show him."

"You needed to use _words_ , Derek. We've talked about those, remember?" She sighed. "If nothing else, you owed Cara and Stiles an _explanation_ of why you were suddenly possessed with the urge to drag him into a small, enclosed space."

He didn't respond, and she didn't make him. They both watched the jeep navigate its way through a four way stop in silence.

"What about Gwen?"

His mother tapped her fingers on the wheel, frowning through her words. "She's been doing so much better, and she needs to be around people. Having someone visit _us_ will be good for her."

Derek huffed, hunching down further. "I don't like it."

"I'm shocked," his mother drawled, pausing briefly before changing topics. "Vic was definitely right, though. He is _adorable_. And the _hoodie_ ," she cackled, her fingers tightening over the wheel until the leather was protesting its mistreatment.

Derek thumped his head back against his seat. " _Mother_."

"I'm just saying." He refused to look, staring resolutely at the ceiling instead, but he could hear the grin in his mother's voice, smell her teasing affection. "Vic's been keeping us updated and for you, this is quite attached."

"He's seventeen." And he'd been sixteen when they'd met.

They pulled into one of the visitor parking spots at the station as his mother waved at Stiles before turning back to him. He didn't want to look, but he could feel the pull of her will against his and there was no resisting that. 

She waited until he met her eyes before speaking softly and slowly. "Age is a number. It's important because it's the law, but what _you_ need to focus on more is the person. Nobody miraculously changes just because they've hit a particular birthday, so don't tell yourself it's about his age. Look at who he is now, watch who he becomes. _Use words_ , and use your brain."

His mother got out of the car and he followed, trailing after her toward the station.

Abruptly she shrugged, turning back with a mischievous grin. "If you don't use your brain, use his. He has good instincts."

"Seventeen."

"Protected you."

And there really wasn't anything he could say to that.

They were nearly at the door when Derek's skin went cold. His chest constricted suddenly and painfully, until it felt like his lungs were made of lead, and there was nothing in his head. _There was nothing in his head_.

He stopped, and his mother stopped with him, frowning as she peered into his face. Whatever she saw or felt as his heart rate kept tripping and racheting upward left her nodding. "Go wait by Stiles' jeep. We won't be long."

Derek didn't remember walking to the jeep, but the slick feel of the metal under his hands helped. The comforting sense of _Stiles_ that was thoroughly soaked into the vehicle helped more.

Having a freak out in the parking lot instead of coming in to say hello in a calm and mature way was an _excellent_ way to get on the sheriff's good side, Derek was sure.

It wasn't long. Stiles was laughing and alone as he came out, calling a goodbye to someone inside before shoving his hands in his pockets and shuffling across the parking lot. He was smiling, but there was a line of worry across his brow. "Heeey, Derek. You okay? You look kinda...damp. And paler than normal."

Derek snorted and pushed himself more upright. "I'm fine," he said, trying to force a smile.

Stiles just scowled back at him and took a step into his space to poke Derek firmly in the chest. "Don't you start giving me customer-smiles now, buddy. There is no freakin' way I'm going to put up with that if I'm meeting your probably-terrifying family, because your definitely-terrifying mother said so."

He caught hold of Stiles' hand when Stiles went to poke him again, but his shoulders relaxed, the pressure in his chest easing. "I'm fine," he repeated, and this time the smile came naturally.

"I'm not sure that's right," his mother cut in from far-too-close, making his pulse jump again, "but you're definitely doing better."

Derek huffed his irritation at her, and belatedly dropped Stiles' hand when she gave it a pointed look.

"You might as well ride with Stiles, Derek. It'd be bad form if we lost him."

Stiles slid into the jeep while Maria stepped in to be obnoxious and hug Derek before he could get away. She rubbed her cheek against his and huffed against his hair, her arms tightening until his body gave in and relaxed against her. 

When she finally let him go, Stiles was drumming his fingers against the steering wheel and staring off in the other direction. He turned back when the door closed, grinning sheepishly. "Parents, huh. We ready?"

"Yeah."

"Not that I don't appreciate the company or the navigator," Stiles offered as he started the car and pulled out behind Maria's sedan. "But, your car? How're you going to get to work tomorrow?"

"I don't have a car."

The sentence hung in the air for several moments, the silence only broken by the faint noises of disbelief Stiles kept making. Derek started playing the alphabet game in his head, snagging letters from license plates as he waited.

"How the hell do you get to work, then? Or do just about, I dunno, _anything_?"

Derek grinned out the window, letting his teeth show a bit. "I run."

"You _run_."

"Yup." He popped the p at the end, enjoying the strangled sound of a stifled laugh that Stiles made.

"Dude," Stiles burst out abruptly, "your workouts _actually have workouts_." 

Stiles laughed openly, and Derek hid most of his grin behind a hand. The seats were saturated with underlying notes of fat and high school, but for the moment everything was submerged in the scent of Stiles' joy. It was...nice.

"Soooo. That was your mom." Stiles nodded, eyes narrow as they tracked Maria's sedan. "She's intense."

Intense was just the tip of the iceberg, but there was no way he was explaining that. "Wait until you meet my sister."

Laura wasn't more intense than their mother, but she _was_ less sane.

"Uh...high school?" Stiles tossed him a short incredulous look. "Coffee?" 

Derek shook his head. "Older sister. Laura, not Danielle."

"You have an _older_ sister?" That was honest shock in Stiles' voice. He didn't know what to do with it though, so he just nodded. "How much older?"

"Two years."

Stiles frowned and shook his head, then squinted as they turned off the last _actual_ road and officially into Hale territory. "Uh. Wait..." 

The tail lights of his mother's sedan disappeared around a bend as Stiles examined their surroundings, but at this point it would have taken effort to get lost. 

"Okay, no, _right_ ," Stiles burst out suddenly, slapping his forehead. "We're going to your _parents'_ place. That makes sense. So...where do _you_ live?"

Derek shrugged. "With my parents."

"You still live with your parents?"

Stiles sounded incredulous, but that was one of the things he'd never understood about humans. How living apart was meant to show strength, somehow. "So do my uncles and their families. Live with my parents, I mean."

Vic had only moved out five years earlier, and that was just because Cara needed the familiar noises of town and easy access to the hospital for her peace of mind. Edward would be coming home to the pack's land once he'd finished his degree.

In Derek's eyes, the territory was actually kind of empty. They were missing an entire branch of second cousins. Two, sort of.

Stiles eyes were glued on the road, but growing steadily wider. He was also gaping slightly, which should have looked ridiculous, not kind of endearing. "That's--I knew you had a big family. I mean, _everybody_ knows the Hales are a big family. You can't throw a beanbag without hitting a Hale, and we just aren't that small a town. But you all live in _one house_? I figured you were, y'know, spread out a bit."

It would've made more sense. It would have let them blend in better. It would have been safer.

They'd tried it. Everyone had been miserable.

In the distance, there was the rumble of his mother's howl and Derek felt a sharp tug behind his sternum. It was just his mother calling the pack in to explain Stiles, but it was hard not to get out and run ahead, all the same. He curled his fingers into his palm, feeling his nails grow out and press into the skin for a moment before exhaling slowly and drawing them back in.

"Vic lives in town. But otherwise, it's just one house."

"How many?"

Derek took a moment to pretend to think, though it wasn't necessary. "Living there? Sixteen."

Stiles swore under his breath and stopped the jeep. "Just. Oh my god, the grocery bills must be epic. And, like, bulk _everything_." He turned in his seat abruptly, hands fluttering in the space between them. His eyes were huge. "Are they _all_ going to be there? Is your family a cult? Who doesn't live with you? How big is this house, anyway? Do you live in a Tardis? That's unlikely, but would be so awesome. And explain so much about you. And what the hell, that means you are _actually running_ from all the way out here. What is wrong with you."

Vic and Laura had named this moment. They called it Hale-panic. That moment when the culture shock set in, whether they realized the reasons for it or not. 

Derek settled in to listen, answering questions when he could, and enjoying the hell out of Stiles' disbelief.

Telling him about werewolves was probably going to be an _epic_ spectator event. 

Too bad Derek was going to have to be a participant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two quick notes! 
> 
> One: Depending on progress with last ditch editing I might post another chapter this week. Keep your eyes open if you don't or can't subscribe.
> 
> Two: Entirely unrelated to this story, but. I need a Britpicker for a story set in the [St. Trinian's](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0964587/) universe. 2007 movie only. ( The sequel doesn't exist; it is dead to me.) I also need fast turnaround, because I'm occasionally a procrastinator. But if you're willing, please leave a comment. Story in question should be less than 5K for word count.


	11. a very Hale dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope your week was tolerable, but in case it wasn't...have an extra chapter.

Stiles parked his jeep next to Maria's sedan, at the very end of the line of pack vehicles. "Hooooly shit."

"No one's going to blame you for staying here for a bit." Derek undid his seatbelt but made no move for the door, settling more comfortably into his seat instead.

Stiles just pushed his neck out further as he stared toward the house. Derek turned his attention the yard, where Tania and Paul were setting up the tables for a meal outside. The pack kids (babies excepted) were gathered in a rough circle to play a game under the direction of his dad and Grandmother Hale.

Considering the human warning, probably duck-duck-goose, rather than who's-the-bunny.

"Okay, no, I'm good. Just--there is no way I'm going to remember everybody's name. I am going to insult somebody so badly. Why did you let me do this? Why do you hate me?" Stiles fumbled with his own seatbelt without looking away from the family, but he had started smelling more curious than nervous now.

Or he did, until Laura appeared out of nowhere to stretch out across the hood of his jeep and grin dementedly at him. 

Stiles jumped and squawked, flailing as his seat belt slipped and caught him around his neck.

Derek narrowed his eyes at Laura's grin and reached over to help extricate Stiles. He popped open his door for the sake of normality before gritting out, "Can we help you?"

"I want to meet Li--Stiles," she shrugged and pushed herself up to sit on the hood of the jeep. "And you took _forever_ to get here."

"We stopped for Hale-panic," Derek sighed as he stepped out, ignoring Stiles' incredulous 'you have a _name_ for that?' mutter. 

Laura waved the issue off as irrelevant with a disbelieving snort, then hopped down to grab Derek in a hug that was half tussle. She huffed into his shoulder, her nose wrinkling against the fabric as she whispered "Ewww, you smell like high school. _High school_ , Derek. Still so wrong" and subtly rubbed against him.

He was being scent marked by his sister in front of the underaged son of the sheriff who he kind of wanted to date. Why was this his life?

Stiles had gotten out of the jeep during the hugging and was now standing a few feet behind Laura, smelling amused and friendly and looking like he was about to die from not laughing outright at them. "So...Laura, I presume?"

That was all the reminder it took for Laura to whip around and start hugging Stiles instead, laughing as she lifted him up off the ground a little. "Hi!"

"Oh god. Please put me down."

Laura mashed her face against Stiles' chest instead of responding. She started gleefully chanting 'hoodie hoodie hoodie' into the sweatshirt; thankfully, softly enough that Stiles probably couldn't hear it over his own flailing.

"Told you." Derek shook his head in resignation. "Stiles, this is my older sister Laura. She's impossible, and doesn't know how to communicate like a normal person. Laura, this is Stiles, and he likes it when his feet touch the ground."

That made Laura snort, but she at least put Stiles down.

Stiles didn't smell upset, just grinning at both of them and taking a careful step back. "Uh, does that mean you think you _do_? Do the normal person thing, I mean. 'Cause I hate to tell you this, but..."

"I'm keeping him," Laura announced, hooking her arm around Stiles' and leading him toward where most of the pack was pretending not to watch them.

Derek followed a few steps behind, carefully ignoring how content he felt.

The game the kids were playing stopped before Laura had hauled Stiles more than halfway down the line of cars, Jacob and Stacia already running out to meet the newcomer. Matt was more cautious, hovering between the adults, and their grandmother was holding Gwen back with what looked like just a light hand on the back of the neck. 

Nobody in the family tried to get away from Grandmother Hale when she had a hand on their neck. Not even the alpha. 

He'd heard humans just pinched a person's ears. It sounded astonishingly less painful, but too prone to ripping with werewolves involved.

Stiles crouched down to be introduced to the kids, and just laughed when their greeting hug was more of a pounce, pushing him back to sprawl in the grass. "What is it with you guys? Pick me up, push me down... I want Derek back! He's less violent!"

Laura laughed loudly enough to cover their father's softer laugh, and the amused bark his mother gave from somewhere inside the house. Their grandmother just shook her head and led Gwen and Matt over to join the pile up on Stiles, to his increased laughter and joking protests.

Derek huffed amusement and circled wide around them to head inside. He wasn't going to be able to get close to Stiles until the kids were through with him anyway, and he might as well be useful.

\-----

"You are so dead."

Derek raised an eyebrow at Stiles, pausing from where he was chopping tomatoes for the salad.

Stiles pointed accusingly at him with his unoccupied hand. "Don't you give me that look. You abandoned me. To babysitting. And you hid. Like a hiding thing."

Gregory gurgled happily from Stiles' left arm and waved a hand in Derek's direction. It made him want to rumble and rub against both of them until their scents merged into just _pack_ for a while. Instead, Derek gave the baby a wooden spoon to chew on. "You seem to be enjoying yourself."

He _smelled_ like he was enjoying himself. He reeked of baby, pack and general contentment so hard he was overpowering the tomatoes. Which was a feat, since they were almost directly under Derek's nose, along with the vine they'd come from.

"Totally beside the point. Hello." Stiles huffed at him and turned to lean his ass against the counter, grabbing the narrow end of the spoon and wiggling it for Greg. The baby growled in delight, hands waving as he tried to capture the spoon and hold it still.

It was a good thing Gregory hadn't shown signs of wolf yet. Tania had accepted the bite a full year before she'd gotten pregnant, and the likelihood of Greg staying human was slim at best.

"Would you rather be stuck here, cutting onions?"

"We don't need onions," Peter informed him haughtily from the other side of the kitchen island. "We could do with some lettuce ripping, though."

"Sorry. Hands full of baby," Stiles informed them cheerily. "Which I was told was a totally legitimate task and that I was helping, so I'm gonna stick with that."

Peter smiled and dumped the herbs he'd been chopping into the dressing jar before wiping his hands off and walking around to bury his face against Greg's tummy, much to Greg's wriggling, shrieking delight. Stiles threw Derek an alarmed look over Peter's head, and Derek had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

"Peter! I swear to the gods, you are _shameless_..." Tania covered her face as she laughed, stepping into the kitchen to pull her husband away from their son. "Stop freaking the guest out. Is the salad ready?"

Grumbling quietly, Peter pulled back and kissed Tania on the cheek. "Almost. We're short on lettuce, though. Need another head torn up."

"I'll let David know." Tania turned her head and brushed a kiss over her husband's nose before winking at Derek and Stiles and flowing out again.

"Okay, the baby diving makes more sense, now." Stiles nodded to himself before turning to Derek and hefting Gregory up a bit. "Cousin? Via Tania and apparently-Peter?"

Peter laughed quietly, circling back to the dressing and sealing the jar. "I'm hurt, Stiles. We were introduced already."

"And you look a lot like your brother Paul, and I'm learning, like, at least ten new names tonight. Gimmie a break."

"Never." Peter grinned and moved to grab the last head of lettuce, ripping it down the middle just as a small herd of Hales descended upon them.

"Bathroom first!," David called out from down the hall, and Matt, Gwen, Jacob and Stacia ran through the kitchen, laughing and mildly filthy.

His dad was smiling indulgently as he made his way into the prep area, nodding to them as he entered. "They got excited at the idea of getting to help." Grinning, he paused to blow a raspberry against Greg's stomach on his way through, sending the baby into a flail of delight that nearly shoved the spoon up Stiles' nose.

"You had better be washing up!" he yelled down the hall as he stalked out of the room. "Otherwise I am going to _eat your brains_!"

Stiles stared blankly at him, and Derek shrugged. "This is normal."

"O-kay then."

\-----

Once the newly-clean kids had been allowed to tear the lettuce into roughly mouth sized chunks (Matt being trusted with the _much_ more important task of shaking the dressing, due to his advanced age), dinner was mostly ready.

Stiles had to be convinced to leave Greg with Peter, but was eventually lured out with the promise of grilled meat and assurances that Peter just needed to grab something a bit more baby-friendly for his son.

Dominique was presiding over the fire pit like a vengeful hearth goddess, Erin in one arm and flipping the last few steaks with the other. She whistled and waved her tongs in their direction once she caught sight of them carrying the salad and dressing out. "Hey! New kid! Bleeding or not?"

"Uh..." Stiles faltered, turning wide eyes to Derek.

"Your meat," he explained. "Moving, bleeding, pink or overcooked are the usual options."

Although honestly, most of the family thought pink counted as overcooked.

"Uh, pink?" Stiles called back at Niq, starting to wave before remembering the bowl of salad in his hands, and ending up jiggling the salad at her instead. Niq laughed, and Stiles slumped down a bit as he hurried after Derek. "Augh."

"Don't worry about it," Derek said softly, setting the salad and dressing in their usual spots and eyeing the table judiciously before gently hauling Stiles toward the empty slot next to the foot of the table. 

Laura made wounded face at him from down the bench, which Derek happily ignored.

Stiles slid onto the bench without any issues, grinning across the table at Tania and nodding respectfully to Grandmother Hale as she took her seat at the foot of the table. "Hello again."

Olivia nodded solemnly back, a contented smile bringing out the lines her face was slowly admitting to. Tania grinned, and part of Derek's brain twitched at the show of teeth even as he sat across from her. But Tania was human at heart, Stiles was human, and it was best if at least a few of them still _acted_ like humans. Derek knew that. It didn't stop his brain from twitching, but he knew it.

"Thanks again for watching Greg. He can be such a handful." 

"Hey, no problem. He's an adorable grub."

Tania laughed and shifted to make more room as his dad trooped the kids and cubs contingent out. He helped settle Tania's kids in on either side of her, lifting Matt so he could slide in next to Niq while Tania pulled Gwen up on her other side, so she'd end up between her parents once Peter showed up.

David shot a look at Derek and Stiles, asking with his eyes.

Stiles fidgeted and Derek snorted, shifting down to leave space between him and Stiles. His dad grinned and settled Stacia between them, but he took pity on Derek and put Jacob on his other side, between him and Laura.

"She’ll need her meat cut up," he informed Stiles. "But otherwise, these two are pretty good eaters."

"Unlike some monsters," Tania added, mock grimacing down at Gwen, who growled playfully back but subsided under a stern eyebrow from her grandmother.

"I think I can handle a little extra knife action," Stiles said, smiling down at Stacia. "Especially for such a pretty little lady."

Stacia laughed and hid her face behind her hands, peeking through her fingers at Stiles with her military-grade gigantic brown eyes. Stiles beamed back, expression soft and scent turning even warmer and mushier than it had been already.

Paul coughed and dropped a good sized steak on Stiles' plate, moving past him quickly. At the other end of the table, Derek's parents and sister were laughing. Derek glowered at all of them and pulled Jacob's plate closer once he'd gotten his share of the meat. 

Stiles was too distracted by cutting Stacia's steak to pay any attention to how odd everyone was acting. He had his arms wrapped around her and was conversing seriously about how large she wanted her bites to be, which appeared to be only slightly bigger than confetti. 

The salad and bread were being passed around after the meat, starting with Olivia just as the steaks had but passing next to Tania and her kids. Peter arrived just after she'd passed the salad on and frowned at the excessive greens she'd left on his plate.

Paul had made his way entirely around the table and was just sitting down when Stiles finished with Stacia's aggressively diced meat and started pretending to chew on Stacia's head. Stacia was in heaven, shrieking and wriggling under the attention. 

All the wolves were staring, except for Jacob. Paul let out a pleased rumble until Dominique smacked him upside the head and shoved a hunk of deer in front of his face. 

Derek was so screwed.

"I don't _want_ pieces, I want to use my teeth," Gwen pouted, trying to push her mother's hands away from her plate.

Olivia leveled Gwen with another judgmental eyebrow. Tania pushed a kiss against Gwen's head and kept cutting. "That's not polite, dear." More quietly, she added, "And remember, Stiles isn't family yet, so no toothy talk."

Screwed. For definition: see Hale, Derek.

Stiles looked up once he was done with Stacia's head. "What are we eating, anyway? It's...I mean, I don't think this is cow? Er, beef."

"Venison," Derek and Tania offered in unison.

"We're eating _Bambi_?" Stiles blurted out, then looked mortified as he checked the kids. Next to him, Olivia snorted indelicately.

Matt gave Stiles a disbelieving look. "Bambi wouldn't have fed everybody."

"My children," Tania muttered under her breath, "destroyers of civilization."

Derek shrugged at Stiles' disbelieving stare. "As a fawn, he's probably right. Bambi did make an impressive buck, though," he felt compelled to add, smiling at Matt's serious nod.

"Right," Stiles said, in a tone that implied he was thinking about cults again. "Okay then."

\-----

It was a family joke that no Hale dinner was complete until meat was stolen, something was thrown, and somebody was bitten. Niq spent the entire meal openly snagging pieces from her husband's plate (Paul was still occasionally distracted by watching Stiles with his little girl). Jacob attempted to shove a slice of bread up Derek's nose (which didn't count) until Derek took it away to throw it over Jacob's head at Laura for laughing about it (which did). And his mother bit his father. Twice.

Typical dinner. Loud, insane, and generally terrifying.

Stiles fit right in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, so editing love for my primary beta, the enigmatic roommate. Who really needs an AO3 account but is stubborn.
> 
> For tattoos this week, have the work of [Jen Akinyemi](http://www.monkido.net/gallery5/flashindex.html) and [Diogo](http://www.diogotattoo.com.br/index.php?option=com_phocagallery&view=category&id=2&Itemid=2) (I'm not sure if that's an artist or a parlor).
> 
> Next update on Monday, as usual.


	12. There. That was words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all. Oh my gods, if you have any tolerance for vidding, you have GOT to see this. [Birddi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Birddi/) made [an Indelible Marks video](http://archiveofourown.org/works/604512). And it's amazing. I'm still having problems making words about it.
> 
> And to clear up any possible confusion? I do not object to people basing other works off of Indelible Marks. The idea makes me weep with joy.

"Guests don't help with the cleanup," Olivia tutted at Stiles and tugged him away from the table when he stood to gather dishes. "Come for a walk with me instead."

Derek widened his eyes at his grandmother, but she simply smiled back and drew Stiles toward the woods.

All of the adults were snickering, and not bothering to hide it. 

"Here," Niq said, pushing Erin into Derek's arms. "You're on baby and toddling duty."

Derek growled but automatically cast around for Stacia, Jacob and Gwen. They were at least roughly clumped together and hadn't tried to run off into the woods. Yet. 

At least Matt was old enough to look after himself, now.

Gwen pounced on Jacob with a growl and Derek shot Niq a dirty look as he went to break them up. "You all hate me, and want me to suffer."

"Oh, grandma isn't _that_ bad." Niq grinned and patted his arm as she moved on to help with the furniture.

If Derek had had that job, he'd at least be _done_ soon.

\-----

By virtue of settling Stacia with a peanut buttered apple in the kitchen once their parents took the babies back, Derek was able to con Gwen and Jacob into hunting him (in the opposite direction Stiles and Olivia had gone). So Derek had a lapful of Stacia and two completely zonked out cubs curled up against his sides when Stiles finally came back. 

He smelled Stiles first, his inherent earthiness magnified by so long in the fresh air and tromping through the leaf litter. And the warm spicy notes that wrapped through it when he got close enough to see the kids was addictive and heady. So maybe, just maybe, his family didn't actually hate him and were instead the most irritating enablers ever. Maybe.

Stiles leaned over the back of the couch, resting most of his weight against it as he grinned down at Stacia and listened to Derek read aloud from My Side of the Mountain. 

\-----

Stacia fell asleep just before the introduction of the Baron, which was convenient since she adored the weasel and might never have gone down otherwise. But that left Derek entirely pinned under sleeping kids.

When Derek finally let the words drift off, Stiles moved away from the couch. But instead of leaving, he just walked around and collected the book, putting it away again before coming back and sitting on the coffee table.

Pulling his phone out, Stiles grinned and leaned back, taking careful aim as he whispered "Say cheese!"

Derek rolled his eyes instead, which wouldn't make a great photo but... 

"Hunh," Stiles frowned down at his phone, squinting. "It's kinda...blurry. Hold on a sec."

Derek kept his head averted, focusing on Jacob who was starting to twitch in his sleep. He kept his head bowed and rubbed a hand over Jacob's back and closed his eyes when he saw the phone come up again in the edge of his vision.

There was a click and a pleased noise. When he looked up again, Stiles was chewing on his lip in concentration as he presumably saved and named the photo. "Hah. Perfect."

"Happy?"

Stiles beamed, holding his phone protectively against his chest. "Yeah. This has been great."

Then his eyes dropped to the kids where they were draped all over Derek and his smile went soppy again. And yeah.

Screwed.

\-----

They normally wouldn't have bothered waking the terrible three (sleeping kids were the best kind of kids), but the parents had come to the conclusion that it really wasn't fair to let Stiles leave without letting them say goodbye. 

Which meant hugs.

Derek only tamped down on a growl because it was a long line of pack and family that were pressing themselves up against Stiles. Laura, horrible traitor that she was, went so far as to kiss Stiles' cheek and rub her hand all over his hair.

Which was apparently just a dare for the rest of his family to behave even _worse_. Dominique pinched his cheeks, Paul held on for too long, his mother straightened Stiles' clothes, and Peter actually _picked him up_ and pretended to walk away with him.

It was just a joke to make the cubs whine, but it drew Derek forward a step. 

His dad laughed and pulled Peter back, giving Stiles just a quick half-hug himself before passing Stiles on to the kids. Which was why Derek loved his father best.

Stiles was still smiling but looking more than ready to be done by the time Derek caught him by the shoulder and steered him out the door. They both relaxed once they were outside and Stiles' smile seemed a bit more genuine when he turned to face Derek, walking backward toward his jeep. "Man. How do you survive your family? With all the touching and general happiness."

Smirking, Derek reached out to nudge Stiles' shoulder to steer him around the back end of Paul's truck, then caught him by the front of his shirt before Stiles could trip over backward. "Practice. And hiding."

Stiles nodded and let himself be shifted around to face forward again. "That explains the general kitchen servitude."

"Well. That and helping cook gets me out of dish duty."

"Sneaky. I like it." Stiles laughed and bumped up against Derek's side. The movement intensified his scent, all food, contentment, family and _Stiles_. 

"I have _got_ to remember to volunteer for baby duty faster next time, though." There was no hesitation in his voice as he said that, no doubt that it would happen, so Derek ducked his head and grinned as Stiles continued. "Your cousins are brutal, man. Especially Jacob. Dude's a biter."

"Jacob's not my cousin," Derek said, and his voice sounded flat even to him, but it was better than getting angry and demanding to know if Stiles was alright. If he wasn't, Derek would have known. Nobody would have been able to hide that.

It hadn't been _Jacob_ they'd been worried about, though.

Stiles startled a bit, frowning at him. "He's not Gwen's... I figured they were twins. So...wait. Whose is he then?"

Derek coughed, looking up and to the side to hide his smile. "Jacob's my little brother."

The silence was deafening. Derek gave him a moment to process the age gap, but after a few steps, he turned back to Stiles and raised an eyebrow at the scrunched up disbelief on Stiles' face. "It wasn't exactly intentional. Mom joked about naming him Ripper for months after they found out."

"Ripper?"

"For what he apparently did to the condom."

"Oh my _god_!" Stiles shouted, slapping his hands over his ears and glaring at Derek when he laughed. "Dude. That's just wrong. I don't even want to know why that's not embarrassing for you."

He shrugged, but knew better than to explain. They generally didn't even explicitly tell even the humans in the pack how not-private sex generally was for the wolves, unless they opted to accept the bite themselves. Tania had blushed for _weeks_. "Like I said. _Months_."

"Yeah, I guess so." Stiles lowered his arms with a huff and swatted at Derek's arm. "Still. I didn't go through that, and I think your parents just forcibly adopted me, which makes them family which makes it weird. So ew."

Derek just shrugged. They were at Stiles' jeep, which meant Stiles was going to leave. 

But Stiles didn't seem to be in any sort of hurry, instead leaning back against the jeep and grinning lazily at Derek. "So how old is Jacob?"

"He'll turn six a few days before Halloween." Derek slid his hands into his pockets, unsure about what to do with them otherwise. "That year was the worst. Gwen turned six back in August, and Stacia will turn six in January."

Stiles stared at him for a moment before exploding with laughter. "Oh, man. That's--I mean. What the hell? Was there something in the water up here that year or what?"

Or what.

Derek shrugged and looked up at the sky. The house lights were too bright and too close to let him see the stars, but it was still calming. And it was Stiles in front of him. 

Stiles, who had no reason to interpret that gesture as anything but human. Whose teeth were mostly blunt. Whose nails were soft and fragile and short.

"Oookay," Stiles drawled, "setting aside that apparently awkward topic. Which, really, it should have been awkward before now because, y'know, _sex_." He snorted, smothering a laugh, and Derek looked down to return his smile. "Adults having sex, even. And your family. So yeah, no."

Stiles shrugged, shifting against his jeep in a way that was so intensely and intentionally casual that it entirely failed at looking casual. "You know, you never actually answered my question. Kind of like how your mom never actually finished that conversation once she got us here."

A fact that Derek was hoping would continue. Stiles seemed to have distracted the entire family well enough that she might actually have forgotten.

"What question."

" _Is_ there some rule against me having the same tattoo as you?" Stiles shoved his hands into his pockets and turned away from the house, probably hoping that the comparative lack of light would hide the hint of a blush. "I mean, you said you liked it, but I don't really..."

"It's fine, Stiles," Derek cut in. "No rules. I'll bring my folder in tomorrow and make a few different sizes for you to look at. We can discuss any other changes you want to make then."

Stiles laughed. "Yeah. 'Cause it's definitely going to have to be smaller. Yours would make me look even _scrawnier_ , even if we put it in the middle. It'd just be ridiculous on one side."

Neither of them wanted Stiles to go, he realized. Stiles was fidgeting with his keys and keeping his back to his jeep, and Derek himself was just...standing there, awkwardly, trying to remember how to talk like a normal person.

He hated words.

Derek reached out and cupped a hand around the back of Stiles' neck, pulling him up and away from the jeep. Stiles went along with the movement easily with a surprised 'meep?' until he realized he was just being pulled into yet-another-Hale-hug. Then his arms came up and he clung back, leaning in so they were cheek to cheek rather than having to look at each other.

Food, happiness, family, _Stiles_.

It was hard to let him go, but eventually Stiles fidgeted and started smelling awkward, so Derek released his grip and stepped back.

"So--"  
"Do you want to do dinner sometime?"

Stiles blinked and gestured vaguely toward the house. "Um."

"No, I mean." Derek flushed, backing off another step. "Just with me. Out--somewhere."

Stiles...kept blinking.

"Stiles?"

"Oh my _god_ , are you asking me out?" Stiles' words tripped over each other leaving his mouth, volume rising until Derek was painfully aware that most of his family had definitely heard that. "What. I mean. Was this some sort of weird family vetting thing? _Are_ you a cult? You said you weren't, but you would, wouldn't you. And that would kind of make sense, actually. I mean..."

" _Stiles_." Derek covered his eyes with one hand, but Stiles' mouth snapped shut. He heard it. " _No_ , we are not a cult. No, I am not asking you out because my family likes you. Yes, I am asking you out. On a date."

There. That was words.

"Okay. Yeah, okay, yes?"

Derek grinned, and Stiles grinned back. They were both nervous, but happy, so that was okay. "Okay."

He'd have to think about what to do about the sheriff. Later.

"So," Stiles started, coughing and looking down as if to hide his grin. Or his blush. Probably the blush. "Um, I think saying goodbye just got really awkward. I'll see you tomorrow, though?" He looked up again, smiling smaller but hopeful and happy.

"Yeah," he answered, pulling Stiles in for another hug and pressing his nose against Stiles' temple. Breathing him in. 

In all honesty, right then Derek couldn't even remember if he was scheduled to work the next day, but it didn't really matter. He'd be there anyway.

Stiles flailed and muttered disparaging remarks about Derek's family and their hugging obsession, but he hugged back before thumping Derek lightly on the back and pulling away. "I do have to go home, you know. I mean, my dad _does_ expect to see me occasionally."

Derek snorted but let go and stepped back to let Stiles get into his car. 

He waited until Stiles' tail lights faded out of normal sight then shifted and ran alongside him until the trees thinned out too much to hide in. Then he walked home, in human form and at human speed, but with his senses pushed out as far as they'd go.

He still barely dodged Laura's tackle when she attacked him in the trees closest to the house.

Laura rolled easily and jumped, using a tree to rebound into him and catching him around the neck. She dragged him into the leaf litter and hooked her legs around his waist, scrubbing her free hand in his hair. "Oh my god, little brother. _You're a real boy_."

Derek huffed and went limp. There was no dealing with his sister in one of these moods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the off chance you missed the beginning chapter note... _[Birddi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Birddi/) made [an Indelible Marks video](http://archiveofourown.org/works/604512)_ , and it's lovely.
> 
> For tattoos this week, we have [Thea Duskin](http://ghostprintgallery.com/tattoo/) in Richmond Virginia who does some really amazing soft work. Also [Luca Natalini](http://www.lucanatalini.com/tattoos/) in Milano Italy. (If you get a 404 error clicking on an image from the main page, click on the words color or black and grey instead. Those will take you to sub galleries which seem to work just fine.)
> 
> Oh, and I suppose I should note I'm posting another extra chapter tomorrow, assuming AO3 doesn't faint too badly due to Yuletide. *humms* Happy holidays, all.


	13. It's a date.  ...almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneaking this in a little early, due to worries of Yuletide crashing the AO3. Again.
> 
> Oh, hey, and there might also be something of interest for you [over in Kitchen Sink](http://archiveofourown.org/works/569745/chapters/1096044). ;)

Vic didn't stop grinning the next day, or bitching over the fact that she'd _missed_ Stiles meeting the family in his unintentionally-ironic hoodie. Derek just counted himself lucky that he only had to spend two hours in the parlor with her before she was off shift. Cara had apologized twice, once with a hug and words and later with a hideously pink mug that said 'Fuck you, I'm a Fairy Princess' on one side. Because Cara had problems.

Tony had no idea what was going on, and was doing his best to avoid all of them and their insanity as a result.

By the time Stiles finally got out of class and showed up at Tinge, Tony was on break between appointments and Cara was in the middle of trying not to laugh at a client who wanted something Dali-esque with mushrooms that was sounding more and more like 'I just want a lot of gigantic, multi-colored dicks on my thigh' with every verbal description he gave.

It was safely out of Derek's preferred style and all the way in Cara's, so it was hilarious rather than potentially traumatic.

Stiles slowed down as he walked the short distance to the counter, grin melting into confusion and his head turning toward the client at the consulting counter instead of Derek. "Uh..."

"Don't ask," Derek muttered.

Stiles squinted for a moment longer before shrugging and dragging his stool over to the edge of the counter. "So. In the hopes of preventing awkward, you're actually serious about the dating thing? That wasn't, like, family induced insanity, or something? 'Cause I think your family might do that."

Derek snorted and turned back to the sketch he was working on. "Not to me. You?"

"If they did, it hasn't worn off yet." Stiles shifted his stool closer and bent his head to look at what Derek was working on. And when had he stopped minding that? "Dad figures we should invite you to dinner next, by the way," Stiles added casually. "Aaand we kind of haven't had the 'Dad, I'm bi' talk yet."

He carefully lifted the pencil away from the paper and pointed the blunt end at Stiles. "Don't do that while I'm working."

Stiles rolled his eyes and backed off, turning to face Derek and bracing his hands against the edge of the stool between his legs and _damn it_. Derek dragged his attention back to Stiles' face and glared when Stiles just grinned at him. "Ahuh. I saw that." He shifted again, hands on his knees and not bothering to bring his legs together at all. "You can still back out, you know."

"No." He wasn't sure he could. Knew he didn't want to. "You're the expert on your dad. So?"

"We should actually do something. In a date-like sense, I mean. And soon. I can tell him you're my boyfriend next time he asks about inviting you over, so we can get the initial reaction over with." Stiles shrugged. "He's not going to like the age thing, but..."

" _I_ don't like the age thing," Derek growled, flipping his book closed and storing it away for later. A glance back at Stiles told him that his expression had shut down. Not quite wary, or what he thought wary would look like on Stiles, but definitely reserved. "Idiot. I still asked."

Stiles nodded, smile slowly returning to his face even if he didn't relax entirely. "Yeah, true. It's the Stilinski charm. Absolutely unstoppable and irresistible. It's like a superpower."

"Mmhm." Derek smiled and pulled out his other sketch book, sliding it over to Stiles and flipping it open. 

Stiles was fishing a pencil out of his bag before Derek had finished the gesture. "So where do you want to go for dinner? Anywhere too fancy would look at us funny for doing this, which would suck."

"Hmm." Something relaxed in Derek, curling warm around his gut. "Trust me to handle it? Tomorrow night at four."

Stiles' eyes slid up from where he was drawing a tiny, angry version of his father who appeared to be--lecturing a tiny stegosaurus. This was, in Stiles' words, becoming a thing. "Okay."

"I have the size variants on the triskele for you, before you go. Don't let me forget."

They exchanged smiles, more of a grin on Stiles' end, and went back to sketching. A wolf joined the stegosaurus, standing alert and ready a respectful distance behind it. Or something close to respectful distance, at least. It was hard for Derek to judge distance when his reference points were a tiny man and a thigh-high dinosaur.

\-----

"Okay, yeah, this is not working."

Derek lifted his eyebrows, but didn't look up from cutting around the last triskele. Stiles didn't explain, though. He walked away.

Frowning, Derek hurried with the last few cuts while listening to Stiles make his way into the back and--into the bathroom.

Mirror. That made sense.

Derek set the scissors aside and followed with the template, rapping his knuckles against the doorframe once he reached it.

"You're joking, right?" Stiles was rolling his eyes when he pulled the door all the way open, gesturing Derek in. "I didn't even close it all the way."

And Stiles wasn't wearing his overlayer. Either of them, since his hoodie was draped over Derek's jacket in the back. The tan button-up he'd been wearing earlier was gone, leaving him just in a black t-shirt with a bullseye across the chest.

Stiles went back to frowning at the mirror as he held one of the cut outs up, but the movement pulled at the fabric, making a fold right under the paper. Huffing in annoyance, Stiles put the paper down and pulled his shirt off.

Derek grabbed the stool he used when he changed shoes and propped the door open. The last thing he needed was for Cara to call his mother again, this time because she had the _right_ idea.

"Here," he forced out, handing Stiles the design. His voice was too gruff and abrupt, but he was having a hard time looking at Stiles' chest and thinking about size and placement. 

It was a lot easier to wonder what that skin tasted like. Whether it would flush if he touched it. If Stiles was ticklish. How warm he'd be.

"Thanks," Stiles muttered, swapping out the designs and grimacing. Even distracted as he was, Derek nodded honest agreement at Stiles' "Waaaay too small. Okay."

It went on like that, with Stiles lifting designs and making faces (speculative or unhappy, there was always a face), and Derek pretending like he was paying more attention than he was.

"I can't quite... Okay, here."

Then Stiles' hand was closing over his wrist and pulling it to his chest. Derek's fingers spread instinctively to hold the template down while Stiles let his shoulders relax, but he wasn't thinking about the design. He was _feeling_ Stiles' heartbeat, not just hearing it. He was nearly touching that skin, the heat of it bleeding through the paper.

Stiles' pulse kicked up a notch and Derek looked up, caught his eyes in the mirror as Stiles swallowed heavily. 

And yes. That skin _would_ flush if he touched it. It already was.

Even with the door open, Stiles' scent, Stiles' _want_ , was overpowering in the small space.

"Um," Stiles swallowed again, breaking their gaze to seek out another piece of paper, pulling it up to trade it out with the one Derek was holding. He shivered when Derek stepped closer, when his fingers spread past the edge of the paper. Just a bit. "Right. So." He exhaled heavily, eyes fixed on their reflections. "Yeah. It's...uh. A little too small. And that one, the last one, it was a little too big. Can we, ah..."

"Split the difference," Derek nodded. "Easy."

"Okay. Great," Stiles nodded jerkily, inhaling slowly. "We should, ah, probably..."

"Right." Derek let his hand drop, turning to gather up the other almost-right while Stiles pulled his shirt back on.

The smell of apples and musk was making him lightheaded.

He didn't mind.

"So. Tomorrow. Four thirty. And probably no tattoos," Stiles grinned, bouncing on his toes. "Want to meet here, or..."

"I'll pick you up at home."

If they were going to tell the sheriff, they weren't going to start out by hiding.

The expression on Stiles' face softened, even as his grin spread. "Great." Then he stepped in, pushed a kiss against Derek's mouth, and darted out the door, snagging his over-shirt on his way out. "See you then!"

Cara was nice enough to only laugh a little when she came to fetch him out of the bathroom a minute later.

\-----

If he was less of a Hale, Derek would enter Paul's personal territory from the road. But as quiet as he was, he _was_ still a Hale.

And entering from the woods when there were trainees around never stopped being funny.

"Fuck!" One of Paul's minions startled backward and tripped over a pail of feed. He wasn't going to hit anything on his way down, so Derek just raised his eyebrows at the spectacle.

"I don't care who that is. You're an ass," Boyd called out from the other side of the hutches.

Derek smirked and walked over to offer the kid a hand up. The kid with horrible taste and poor decision making skills, and who was trying to pull his hand back while Derek investigated the sloppy barbed wire band around his wrist. "What kind of idiot are you," he grumped, glaring at the tattoo. It was a day old at best. "This should be wrapped up."

There was a heavy sigh as Boyd came around the edge of the hutch, stripping his gloves off as he walked. His eyebrows arched up pointedly when he came into view. "Derek. Always a pleasure. Now let go of Trent."

Derek lifted Trent's hand and shook it lightly by the wrist. "Trent. Is an idiot."

Trent was also starting to put more pressure behind trying to get his hand back, so Derek let it go and leveled him with a glare. "Who gave you that? Did they even cover aftercare with you? Did you tell them you work around animals?"

Even Boyd was frowning at the kid now, though he looked more put upon than actually upset. "...I'm siding with Derek on this one. Where are your gloves?"

"...I'll go get them," Trent managed to eek out, eyes wide, before he ran off.

"Wash your arm with the kitchenette soap, not the bathroom!" Derek yelled after him. "And put some gauze over it!"

Boyd chuckled and shook his head, "Always a pleasure to watch you work. Do you terrorize your customers into doing what they're told too?"

Derek shrugged. He tended to do whatever he thought would work.

"Paul's in greenhouse three. Try not to knock anyone else over, yeah?"

He didn't bother dignifying that with a response.

The trip across the nursery grounds was uneventful. Paul didn't need that many helpers this time of year so there were just a few students scattered through the grounds. Boyd was the only one worth talking to, so far as he knew. The only one who'd been around more than a year. Definitely the only one who understood his uncle's jokes.

Greenhouse three was small, only about forty feet long, and fairly empty at the moment. Paul was at the back, carefully transplanting seedlings into pots. He didn't look up from his work, but nodded a greeting as Derek approached.

"Can I borrow your truck tomorrow?"

Paul liked words even less than Derek. Or maybe more than anybody else he knew. Paul didn't have problems articulating anything he cared to talk about, he just...didn't, usually. Unsurprisingly, his only response to Derek's question was a 'go on' gesture between sprouts.

"I want to do something special for the date," he admitted. "But it needs sturdy, not flashy." Derek paused and shrugged when Paul looked up. "And I don't want to ask anyone else."

Paul laughed and nodded. "Good luck."

\-----

He didn't sleep well. His dreams were a restless blur of running and heat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be the last extra chapter for a while. Sorry. I need to repair my buffer, though.
> 
> Tattoos! [Koraykaragozler has some amazing watercolor-like and abstract work](http://koraykaragozler.deviantart.com/gallery/427794), and I have to admit to being completely blown away by the black work of [Roxx of 2 Spirit Tattoo in San Francisco](http://2spirittattoo.com/artists/roxx/).
> 
> And seriously, thank you all for all the lovely comments and support. I haven't replied as much as I'd like to, but I do love them all. You seriously help me keep working on this.


	14. is it a first date if you've already met the family?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully a few questions get answered in this chapter.
> 
> For the record, there's a humorous reference to tropical storms as a disaster in this chapter. It was actually written before Sandy, and I've decided to leave it as is because I don't think it will come off as insensitive. If it does, I apologize.

Stiles was out the door almost as soon as Derek pulled to a stop out front. He gave the truck an amused glance before leaning inside. 

"Hey, hi, um..." Stiles blinked, expression suddenly hesitant. Derek quirked an eyebrow at him, waiting. "Right. So. Am I dressed okay?" Stiles blurted out. "I just. I realized I have _no idea_ what you have planned, and I might have gone a bit insane. So I have, like, four outfits picked out upstairs and my room looks like Tropical Storm Laundry took place in it, which it kinda did, and I didn't wind up changing at all so I'm kind of already failing at the whole dating thing and..."

Derek turned and grabbed a bag of cookies out of the back and pushed them at Stiles. It had worked with the fries at the diner, and it seemed to work now. Stiles didn't start eating, but he did shut up while trying to make sense out of the cookies.

"What you're wearing is fine," Derek assured him. "I didn't dress up either." Which isn't to say he hadn't thought about it, but it wouldn't have been practical.

"Dude, you were born looking good. You don't _have_ to dress up," Stiles scoffed. He started to climb up into the truck then stopped and rolled his eyes. "Hold on." Stiles ran back to the house and locked the door, and Derek tried very hard not to look like he was laughing about it as Stiles ran back.

Subterfuge was not his area of expertise.

"Oh shut up," Stiles huffed, sounding amused. But he was smiling as he clambored up into his seat. "So where are we going, and why do you have cookies? And why are we in a truck?"

"It's my Uncle Paul's," Derek offered, and grinned when Stiles scowled at him.

"Whatever, Mr. Secret-Pants. I'm picking the radio station, if you're going to be like that."

Derek snorted, then grimaced as Stiles turned the volume up before scanning over several stations. He swatted at Stiles' hand, but just got a bright laugh in return. "You are too easy."

When Stiles settled on an oldies station, of all things, he surprised Derek by turning the volume back down. He could still hear it just fine, but he doubted it was more than a murmur to Stiles.

Stiles shrugged. "I just like the background noise."

\-----

Stiles threw an incredulous look at him when Derek finally parked the truck. "Okay, seriously weird now. Are you sure that you aren't mixing up 'date' and 'psychotic break'? Or maybe 'axe murder'?"

Derek blinked slowly at Stiles and slid out of the truck, heading to the bed instead of starting to haul their supplies out. He'd just popped the tool case open when Stiles leaned against the other side of the truck with an expectant look. It quickly turned into pure shock when Derek pulled the axe out, and Stiles jumped away before glaring at him.

Snickering, he put the axe back away. "That's not why we're here though," he explained, before locking the box again and reaching behind the driver's seat for the blankets.

"You are _such a jerk_ ," Stiles sighed, poking his head back in to watch Derek. "So. This is still a date?

Derek shrugged, looking around for somewhere flat to set up. "You said nothing fancy."

"I also said dinner. Or rather, I think _you_ said dinner. Which, regardless." Stiles threw his arms forward dramatically, gesturing at the trees as though he thought Derek might have missed them. "Not something I equate with middle of nowhere, y'know?"

"We aren't in the middle of nowhere." Derek eyed the grass then flipped out the thicker of the two blankets; it was too close to damp to risk just using the softer one. "We're on the edge of my family's property, having a picnic."

Stiles finally walked over to help straighten the blankets out. He kept his face down and his voice even, but his scent was spicy and vanilla-soft. "A picnic? Best you could think of for a first date was a picnic?"

He could feel his eyes smiling. "Ahuh."

"We're having a picnic in October."

"Yup."

"Cool."

Derek grinned down at the softer blanket as he shook it out.

\-----

A mistake some humans made, when they learned about werewolves, was to think that scents had a hierarchy that would make sense to them. That some were better, nicer, or more desirable than others. Humans used scent as an ornament. To a wolf, it was information.

Gasoline didn't necessarily smell any worse than tree bark. Perfumes were frequently too _much_ scent, but they weren't bad on principle. And when they were, it tended to be a matter of individual taste.

That wasn't to say that there wasn't some value in bringing Stiles out into the woods, however. There was just as much complexity in the woods as there was in the city, but there were less _people_ , here. 

Here, there was no family that wasn't either coming from Paul's truck or several days old. Scents left over from Tinge and the school were fading and easy to filter out. The people scents, here and now, were predominantly just the two of them. It made things easier.

Stiles had laughed when Derek unpacked the sandwich makings, but then proceeded to build a monstrosity while Derek was still unloading the bags.

"If that's what you're going to eat, you shouldn't be complaining that I didn't make your food for you," Derek commented, shaking his head.

"Heathen," Stiles returned through a mouthful of sandwich. "Pickles and mustard are where it's _at_. The meat and bread is just a bonus."

Stiles shifted closer as Derek unearthed bottles of water and juice, plates, and containers of salad and potato salad. He gave the little battery powered lamp a weird look, and reached out when the pie appeared, but Derek had been expecting that and snatched it up and out of reach. "That's for later."

Stiles huffed a pout but settled down again. If he was pressed up against Derek's side now, neither of them were likely to complain about it. "You're a party pooper. I don't know why I like it."

"It's my charming personality," Derek drawled, quirking an eyebrow at Stiles when he laughed.

Derek made himself a sandwich while Stiles helped himself to the salads with one hand, continuing to eat with the other. Stiles made a horrified face at Derek when he made a second sandwich with potato salad _in_ it.

"You put pickles on your sandwich. You don't get to judge me," Derek told him.

"Pickles belong on sandwiches, potato salad does _not_ ," Stiles insisted. "And if you hate pickles, _why did you bring them_?"

In response, Derek forked a small pile of pickles onto his plate and ate one plain.

"Okay, no. The picnic was a _horrible_ idea." Stiles bemoaned, but his eyes were laughing and his lips fighting a losing battle against a smile. "I'm not sure I can kiss someone with such weird food habits."

Derek shrugged and pushed down a smile of his own. "I'm sure you'll manage somehow."

The last thing he unpacked was his pencil bag and the sketchbook. It was a bit nicer than he usually bought, with heavier paper and a spine that would let it lay flat without fuss.

Stiles gave it a curious look as soon as it came out. "New book?" he asked, licking a spot of mustard off his thumb.

Derek shrugged and handed over a pencil. "Book for us."

Stiles grinned down at the book and shifted closer; vanilla-soft spice, apple and musk. "So what do we want to start with?"

Derek drew in a comical little stegosaurus in one corner, and Stiles started drawing a self-portrait, lying on his stomach and holding a hand out to the tiny dinosaur. Derek huffed at that, eyeing Stiles out of the corner of his eye. "I thought you were the dinosaur."

Just like at the diner, Stiles had his sandwich in one hand and his pencil in the other. Swallowing hastily, he grinned and shook his head. "No way, man. You are totally the grumpy little spiky-saur in this relationship. And I am totally taming you with love, kindness, and demonstrations of general awesomeness."

Derek huffed again, but didn't argue.

They left the first page just with those two figures, because it felt right. The second page became a conversation.

Stiles had mentioned Scott before, when he was talking about the kids in his class, but he hadn't realized they'd been close. Stiles talked about the first time he'd snuck out at night, so he and Scott could visit the graveyard and win a bet. The drawing that accompanied that featured a kid Derek had to assume was Scott lying flat on the ground and gaping up at a tree. Stiles was only in the image as a pair of legs protruding from the leaf cover and kicking wildly. There was an unamused woman with dark hair and a bathrobe watching the whole thing.

Overall, it had been unsuccessful.

In repayment, Derek told Stiles about how Laura had gotten it into her head to be an archaeologist when she was eleven, and dug herself into a pit she almost couldn't get out of before someone realized she'd been missing for too long. As he talked, he filled in a rough impression of a square hole with a defiant, young Laura glaring up out of it. She hadn't wanted to be rescued, she'd just wanted them to bring her a _ladder_.

Stiles drew his father in his uniform, then out of it, sitting on the couch with him and throwing things at the television. Stiles told him about how they had a hard time talking sometimes, so movie marathons were their favorite bonding activity. Derek added a little stegosaurus curled up and sleeping next to the couch, and smiled when Stiles laughed.

He couldn't talk about his family's favorite bonding activity, and Stiles had _participated_ in the second. Instead, Derek drew his mother from when she'd been pregnant with Jacob. He picked a day when she'd just curled up on the couch and demanded a steady flow of hot chocolate as tribute, and complained nonstop because there was no easy way for her to comfortably curl up for a prolonged sulk at seven months. 

He didn't use words, but he didn't really have to. Stiles went back to talking about the movies, and how it started.

"It was my mom, y'know? It seems like that's how everything starts." Stiles stabbed at his potato salad and, really, it was fast becoming some fairly alarming mashed potatoes. "She loved Kung-Fu and cheesy action movies. And seriously, the more horrible they were, the better."

He was silent for a while, watching Derek's pencil as he carefully traced in the impression of dark circles under his mother's eyes. "We had to find something else to watch, after."

Stiles distracted himself by telling Derek about taking meals out to his dad and sitting with him in the office or a patrol car. He talked about learning the police codes so he could keep track of what was going on when he wasn't there, and the police scanner he wasn't supposed to have. But the picture he drew looked more like a hospital room than anything.

"What's that?"

Derek blinked, refocusing on the book. He hadn't really been thinking about it. The hospital room just cut off on one side and it had looked unbalanced so he'd...bordered it.

With fire.

Unsettled, he pushed the book back toward Stiles and set his pencil aside. It was his turn, but he couldn't...

His sandwich probably hadn't done anything to deserve being bitten into so furiously.

"Oooookay," Stiles drawled, leaning down to force himself into Derek's range of vision. "You realize you don't need to talk, right?"

Derek snorted, and Stiles glared at him. Then he shoved the book back. "You don't need to explain it, or use words. But tell me what that was."

Stiles at least had a good enough idea of what he was doing to present Derek with a blank page. He frowned at it. "I haven't done this in ages."

Instead of asking about that, even though he was grimacing and twitching like it was an act of torture, Stiles went back to keeping his mouth occupied with food instead of words.

Derek considered the page. Actual images were out. Werewolves he could work around. Kate he couldn't, and she didn't have any place in a sketchbook that was just for him and Stiles.

So he drew the shape of the feeling in his head, instead. Alarm at the relapse made three heavy, overlapping circles. Fear was a thick bar on the left, hairy with uncontrolled strokes. 

Those he knew.

The sour note in the back of his throat became a cloud of scribbles in one corner, the outline almost looking like a butterfly. The tension in his temples was a few slashes at the bottom, the tension in his jaw flowed across them like a wave. 

It wouldn't be complete without fire, so he sketched it in fast and sloppy, crawling up the outer edge of the fear, wishing he had charcoals the entire time.

When he looked up again, Stiles was staring and chewing so slowly Derek wondered if he'd forgotten he had something in his mouth. 

Eventually, Stiles blinked and swallowed before squinting back at Derek. "Your brain likes to talk in abstract art?"

He sounded skeptical, but Derek shrugged. It wasn't far off. "There was... I needed therapy for a few years." He probably still needed therapy. It'd gotten too hard to edit werewolves out of his life, for his therapist. "This was easier than talking."

"It's actually...weirdly pretty." Stiles frowned at the page. "I mean, I don't think it's a very _nice_ feeling. But it's compelling to look at." Suddenly he grinned and bumped his shoulder against Derek's. "What would drawing me look like?'

Derek raised an eyebrow at Stiles. "Like...you? I'd hope, anyway."

He had examples at home, if Stiles was really curious. But he'd rather not admit to those.

"No. I mean like this," Stiles said, tapping his finger against their book. "What do I make the inside of your head look like?"

Colors immediately burst out, and he shook his head. "I couldn't draw that. Not-- Not with just pencils."

Stiles hummed and gave Derek a narrow look before nodding. "Alright."

To take his mind off it, Derek flipped to a new page and drew a line up of his younger relatives. He talked about how weird it was to suddenly have another baby in the family, when Danielle was nine. How hard it was for Matt to feel normal, when the three terrors were such a cohesive unit that he was decidedly not part of, and there was such a gap between him and Danielle. With Danielle gone, it was even worse. The next step up was Derek, and that was an additional five years added on.

He couldn't talk yet about how Matt was the only born human, between Vic and Stacia. How he'd been five when his mother had taken the bite, and he'd cried for days. How they weren't sure how to fix how _alone_ all of it left him feeling.

It was enough for now.

\-----

"Didn't you bring anything to cut the pie with?"

Derek snorted and handed Stiles a fork. "Didn't figure we'd need it. Just don't get any on the book."

\-----

When it got too dark to draw, even with the lamp, they moved to the truck bed. The blankets made a decent cushion, and Derek knew the solution to the dropping temperature. He sat with his back against the cab and pulled Stiles in to sit between his legs instead of next to him. Stiles laughed and smelled embarassed, but he didn't try to get away. 

It didn't take long for him to relax. The night was full of the soft buzz of insects, and Derek's nose was filled with contented Stiles, sugar, damp wool and crushed grass.

He almost expected Stiles to fall asleep after the first few minutes passed in comfortable silence. Nothing had kept Stiles still and quiet for very long, before.

"My mom died when I was eleven."

Derek pressed his nose against the skin behind Stiles' ear instead of saying anything.

"She started getting sick when I was nine. Cancer. Not breast cancer. Lung." Stiles paused and took a deep breath, one of his hands coming up to wrap over Derek's where they rested against his chest. "It was in her lungs."

He kept talking, quiet and serious in the dark. About how his mother had joked about finally having an excuse to take up smoking. How they'd opened her ribs on one side to take part of her out, and bought them nearly a year of hope. How his dad had broken down after they found cancer again, and Scott's mom had taken care of them both for a while. How Stiles had learned to cook and do laundry by watching her, and still wasn't very good at either. He talked about breaking down over horrible movies and his dad taking care of him afterward. About cocoa and popcorn and movies he'd never watched with his mom.

When the words trailed off into broken silence, Derek held him tighter and started to talk.

"The last time I was at the station, I was giving a statement against the woman who'd tried to have our house burned down."

Stiles went still against him, fingers biting into Derek's arm.

"It was almost seven years ago. Tania had just found out she was pregnant with Gwen a few weeks before. She was home when..."

Nearly everyone had been home.

"Fuck," Stiles breathed, slumping down and half turning to press his cheek against Derek's chest.

Derek held him tighter and nuzzled against his hair. He wasn't ready to talk yet about how it had happened, how he was involved. But it was a start.

"Was that--"

"The reason for the fire"

But Stiles was shaking his head. "No, I mean. The other day, when we went to the station to talk to my dad..."

Ah. That.

He made himself nod. "It was...bad. I hadn't told my mother what I knew at first. She hauled me down there herself and she was so _angry_." Derek snorted and pressed a smile against Stiles' scalp. It was only slightly forced, but he needed it. "And of course, a statement means words."

Stiles' laugh was weak, but sounded genuine. "Oh yeah. Even without all the other crap, that would've been torture for you." He squirmed a bit, shifting up and turning to throw Derek a worried frown. "Six... That was before Dad was sheriff, right? Was he involved in the case?"

"I don't think so. Not in a major way, at least."

"Oh good," Stiles sighed, relaxing back against him again. "It'd kinda suck if he _already_ knew more about you than I do." There was a pause, Stiles head tilting in thought before he did his best to look up at Derek without changing position again. "Uh. I can't promise he won't look you up with all his sheriff-y resources, though. I mean, I don't know that he will? But."

Derek shrugged. "S'okay."

It might be better, honestly. The only thing the sheriff might find was record of him being traumatized by being manipulated into an underage relationship. 

And possibly the incident with the bacon and the high school's sign. But that had been Laura's fault and they'd only gotten a warning anyway.

"Hey," Stiles said, wrapping an arm around himself to poke Derek. "I can _feel_ you thinking deep and profound thoughts. Or something, anyway. Share."

"Did you know," Derek started, talking slowly, "that the authorities tend to frown on decorating signs with meat products?"

There was a long pause, then Stiles was laughing helplessly, his head thrown back against Derek's shoulder and smelling so sweet and perfect that it took all his control not to _taste_. 

He contented himself with hiding a grin in the curve of Stiles' neck and breathing deep.

And in that moment, it was easy.

"I can't draw you, because it's all color with no end." Stiles went still against him, going so far as holding his breath until Derek poked him in the side to make him laugh. "You're orange and green, with only yellow and light where they meet. You don't have any lines or edges and it just...spreads." 

The scents in his nose were changing. The spices blooming, something sweet and citrus winding through the rest. It made delicate coils of thin red lines wrap around the nebula that Stiles had made, adding depth rather than defining space.

And now he remembered why he'd stopped. All the good feelings were too hard to share.

"So what you're saying," Stiles said slowly, his voice quavering just a bit, "is that you're a giant sap."

Derek hummed agreement and brushed his nose against Stiles' neck again. It wasn't like being a sap was a bad thing, and Stiles obviously approved.

He could smell it.

\-----

Eventually Stiles started to nod off, and Derek moved them back into the cab of the truck to drive him home. Stiles sat in the middle of the bench, legs spread around the gear shift and leaning warm and pliant against Derek's side. 

By the time they pulled up outside the sheriff's house, Stiles had fallen asleep and was drooling on Derek's shoulder. Derek jostled him gently and Stiles stretched out as he woke up, then straightened and gave Derek a soft smile.

"Thanks," he said, before leaning over to kiss Derek goodnight. 

It wasn't a hurried, embarrassed peck, this time. Stiles was still half asleep and his aim was a bit off center. He was smiling but his lips were almost lax. It made Derek want to bite and push in, but...this wasn't want. It wasn't lust. Stiles smelled content and sleepy and _affectionate_ above all else.

So Derek let Stiles pull away. Kept his eyes closed while Stiles got out, only opening them once he was sure they wouldn't shine blue.

By then, Stiles was already out of sight.

\-----

Derek wasn't in the mood for dealing with Laura or Peter. Or, really, most of his family. He felt raw and stretched, like Stiles had taken away his skin.

He left Paul's truck with everything still in it on a turn-out off the family road, and he ran.

Circling away from the house, Derek kept to the edges of the property and veered away from any fresh scent of family. The familiarity of the woods helped. The dense scents of moss and decay, the frantic scrabble of squirrels who felt too exposed to simply freeze, the thrum of insects in the air and rodents in the ground.

It lasted an hour until someone found him. His grandmother ran alongside him, bumping their shoulders together when he slowed before bounding ahead. 

Running was instinct. Running was freedom. Running meant avoiding non-pack but otherwise simply letting his brain...stop. All the words and colors slipped away. He didn't care about time or plans or complex worries. They were sufficiently fed, they had a den to return to. They had family to protect and shelter with. Therefore, for now, there were no problems.

They ran together until dawn, and never spoke a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For tattoos this week, if you are in London then I am _intensely_ jealous right now, as you might have access to [Rod Medina](http://www.rodmedina.com/rodmedina/tattoos.html). I am seriously in love with some of this man's work. Similarly, if you're in Brussels (I think?), I am also jealous because you guys have [L'art du Point](http://www.lartdupoint.com/). The website's a little frustrating and minimalistic. If you just want the pretty pictures, I suggest hitting up their [flickr stream](http://www.flickr.com/photos/skydelartdupoint/). Really lovely stuff.
> 
> Here also is an in-progress shot of [a half sleeve by Dido Walstra](http://fuckyeahblackwork.tumblr.com/post/12820878737/freemindfreebody-1-2-sleeve-in-progress-by-dido). I'd give more information, but it all seems to be on facebook and I have a grudge.
> 
> Hope you have a fantastic New Year's Eve, if you celebrate it. =)


	15. and then he's himself

Peter was already in the kitchen when Derek and his grandmother came in from their run. He didn't say anything as Olivia bypassed the kitchen in favor of a shower, or when Derek went straight to the sink and washed his hands to the elbows.

By the time Derek was done, there was a bowl of mushrooms on the island behind him with a cutting board and knife.

"Sliced, please. Stems intact. Quarter inch or so."

Derek nodded and set to quietly prepping the mushrooms. Then potatoes, peppers, tomatoes, onions. 

It was familiar. Comforting. Peter had gotten used to having kitchen-hands at work, jumping to his whim and doing whatever prep work he needed, so he'd brought the position home to his family. Even Vic had been pulled into learning the differences between knives, types of cuts (with the knife, and of meat), and the best ways to prepare stored food for later.

By the time his parents came down, Peter had a serve-yourself Sunday morning feast set up, and was pulling together the beginnings of a stew for dinner. 

His mother leaned against his back while he cored the parsnips his uncle had most recently set aside for him. "Hey kiddo. How did things go?"

Derek frowned down at the vegetable he was very precisely maiming. There were words for this. For feeling empty and full at the same time. Raw, stretched, cored out and completed. 

There were words. None of them were right. All of them felt like they'd break.

(He could draw it. White on white, endless overlapping circles. Stop occasionally to throw in a pale tone, but remember to run mostly over it with the white again. And another page for harsh, bleeding scratches in tones of red-orange and soft-red.)

"Oh, kiddo. You don't do anything easy, do you." His mother wrapped her arms around his chest, squeezing until his ribs were creaking in complaint and he slumped back against her strength.

They stayed like that until his father nudged them apart, handing them both plates of food and crowding Derek away from the parsnips.

"Thank you, David," his mother leaned in to kiss his dad's cheek, and Derek didn't bother to hide his eye roll as he fled the scene. 

Not that he got far before his mother caught up. 

She chuffed amusement and shouldered him toward the little games table in the living room. "We are talking, young man. Even if we have to resort to charades."

So Derek sat, and shoved a forkful of fried potatoes into his mouth.

Which made him think of Stiles, and the french fry trick, and goddamnit.

"Okay," his mother started, leaning forward on her elbow and holding his eyes. "You smell totally love struck. Worse than my brothers ever did, which is pretty damn impressive."

He took another bite of potato. Vindictively. His mother huffed irritation at him. "Even more impressive is how fast this happened. Wednesday, you were normal. Thursday, you were infatuated. Now it's Sunday, and I'm worried you might be in love. What the hell, son of mine."

He fidgeted with his fork and went still when it brushed against where he should have had callouses from drawing. 

Words were wrong, sometimes. But Stiles talked to him without them.

His mother growled softly when he stood up, but she didn't try to stop him. It had shifted into a curious burr by the time he returned with his sketchbooks. 

He didn't bother trying to explain, just flipped open his previous personal sketchbook to a few pages before he'd started drawing Stiles, and let his mother flip through from there. It was just an occasional sketch every so often at the beginning, he knew, but by the end more than half of it was Stiles.

Derek ate while she flipped through the first book, then offered her the second and growled when she tried to ask a question. There were only about twenty pages completed in that one, mostly detail studies of Stiles and a few of their conversations, so it was only a few moments before he passed over the newest book. The one they were sharing.

Maria huffed a laugh at the image of Stiles and the stegosaurus and shook her head as she turned the page. He wasn't expecting her to frown at the next page, or to hiss and drop the book before her claws came out when she flipped another page. 

He'd almost forgotten about the fire, and the emotional abstraction. They'd drawn so much more, after that.

Sighing, Derek reached across the table to turn past the serious part of their evening. His mother relaxed at the light hearted portrait of the youngest members of the pack, and laughed when she moved on from there.

Eventually, she shook her head and gave him a look that suggested she deplored his chances of surviving without a pack to look after him. "Alright. Not so sudden, then. Just you being dense."

He huffed annoyance and his mother reached over the table to rub her hand through his hair as she stood. "Alright. It's been nearly a year and he hasn't run screaming yet, so that's a good sign." 

That earned a snort from Derek, since he was relatively certain that if he'd been nicer or friendlier, Stiles wouldn't have stuck around to begin with. Maria rolled her eyes but continued undaunted, "You know the rules, brat. He needs to know what we are if you're serious, and _before_ you start having sex."

Derek covered his eyes with one hand, making a distressed noise in the back of his throat. But his mother was just as impossible as Laura, so she just scratched her nails through his hair. "Yes, I _know_ he isn't legal yet. And if I had even _half_ a leg to stand on, I'd tell you to wait. But between me and Paul I really, really don't. So instead I'm just telling you to be smart about it, okay?

"No sex until he knows. Preferably no sex until he's eighteen, but he definitely needs to know before then. And we're going to have to have a talk about his dad. Okay?"

Whining, Derek nodded.

\-----

"Hey Derek. Catch."

Derek turned back toward the house and darted to the side just in time to catch a shrieking tasmanian devil of a cousin. Gwen twisted in his arms as soon as he had her securely, growling and sinking her teeth into his arm. Wincing, Derek frowned down at her and pinched her nose firmly before glaring up at the second story window Gwen had come out of.

"What the hell, Laura," he muttered, glaring up at the empty window his sister had vanished back into.

Laura shrugged as she reappeared in the window, then jumped out to land nearby. "You were handy, and it was that or drag her through the house."

Gwen let go of his arm to gasp in a breath, and Laura ducked in, shoved a knotted rope toy into her mouth. "Here. Chew on that." 

Derek cautiously removed his grip on their cousin's nose, letting Gwen snarl and bite down into the rope to her hearts content. Laura wrinkled her nose and stepped around Gwen to look at his arm. The bite was already healed, but... "Sorry about your shirt, though. Hope you weren't heading anywhere." Then her eyes narrowed and she stepped in closer, inhaling softly. When she spoke again, her voice was flat and unimpressed. "Have you even _slept_?"

Derek grunted and grabbed the far edge of the knot, tugging on it to work the lingering soreness out of his arm and make Gwen sink her teeth in and growl. "Talked to Tania yet?"

Laura narrowed her eyes at him but let it go after a moment with a curt shake of her head. "No. I just came in to wake her up, since the others were already at breakfast. Figured running her first would be the best bet, but I've only got so long before I head in to work."

"I'll do it. I need to think anyway." 

Laura smiled and punched him in the arm. Lightly. For them. "Thanks. I was almost worried I was going to have to call out sick and miss all those Sunday morning oil changes."

She gave an exaggerated roll of the eyes and he snorted in response. "You'll let Tania know where her little monster is?"

"Of course." 

Her hand was soft on his shoulder as she walked past him. Derek waited until she was out of sight before sighing down at Gwen.

Then he dropped her, holding her up just by her grip on the rope until her thrashing let him steal the rope away. She howled and lunged after him, giving chase as he set off into the woods.

His family threw six year olds out second story windows in order to manage their mood issues. How did you explain that to a human?

\-----

It took hours to wear Gwen down to a panting wreck, and she still didn't shift back to human. Derek carried her back to the house thrown over his shoulder, ignoring her tired little growls and the occasional kick.

He hesitated just inside the trees, feeling and smelling for any trace of other, but only the welcoming scents of family greeted him. The scent of his father was strongest, so he followed it around to the back. It wasn't a surprise to see him ready with a hose and a worried smile.

"You're a mess, son."

Derek unceremoniously lifted Gwen and held her up in front of him, and his dad nodded. "Yeah. She's worse." He grimaced, sniffing warily at his niece. "Is that..?"

"She found a dead raccoon," Derek admitted. "And I didn't hear her veer off fast enough."

His dad grimaced. "You are astonishingly unsanitary, princess."

Gwen chuffed happily at the recognition, feet kicking and trying to wriggle out of Derek's grip.

Her happiness turned to shrieks of betrayal when David finally turned the hose on and sprayed them down.

\-----

Derek left Gwen with his dad, for a _real_ bath and then breakfast, before running off again. He could hear his mother and Peter bickering back and forth in the kitchen, and he wasn't sure he felt up to actual words on the Stiles issue yet. Which his mother might understand for a bit longer, but Peter wouldn't.

So he left his wet and dirty shirt behind and took off into the preserve.

The woods were a balm. Quiet and green in a way that was just as chaotic and messy as any city. The noise was still there, in the shifting of branches and leaves and everything that ran, scurried, flew, buzzed, called, or burrowed, but it was a collection of noises he was accustomed to. It was soothing.

He ran for miles, curling through the preserve before veering off toward somewhere familiar.

The walnut was a giant. They'd estimated its height at over seventy feet when he was younger, and their father had been teaching Laura about angles and comparisons.

It was also as familiar as a friend.

Derek jumped up, hopping from branch to branch until he'd found a spot that felt right. He settled with his feet still braced on the branch below him, crouching low and leaning to let the trunk take his weight. 

He had to tell Stiles. If it was serious.

How the hell was he supposed to figure that out? Were the rules different if it wasn't serious? Did his mother want the sheriff to be in the know?

What would Stiles think? How would he react? How would his father react? How likely was it that guns would be involved?

Derek didn't know the Sheriff. He'd been worried about threats already, just over the age difference.

And they still didn't know what was going on with Gwen. Why she was such a terror sometimes, and wouldn't settle. Could he risk exposing Stiles to that?

"What's on your mind, pup?"

Derek startled and leaned forward so he could look down at his grandmother, where she was smiling up at him. "Want a friendly ear?"

It took him a few moments to decide, but Grandmother Hale was nothing if not patient. She waited until he nodded before jumping up, scaling the tree as he had until she was perched by his side. Like they were sparrows instead of werewolves.

This was another of those things that would seem strange, he realized. His grandmother was well into her seventies, looked to be in her early fifties, and could out-run and out-jump most Olympic athletes. Without shifting.

She watched him for a few moments before scooting over and pressing up against his side, squeezing him between her warmth and the trunk. "So?"

"Mother thinks I should tell Stiles about the family."

Olivia nodded, unsurprised. "You smell disgustingly in love, grandson. And it snuck up on you to boot. That can't be helping." Derek snorted but didn't bother to reply, so his grandmother continued, softer and more sympathetic. "It doesn't entirely explain this behavior, though. What is it you have twisted up in your head?"

"Is it fair to bring him in to all this? With Gwen, and the hunters, and his father."

"That last one sounds like it's more about you than him," she pointed out, and Derek huffed. He let his weight sink back a bit, his head dropping between his shoulders. His grandmother laughed, leaning over to nuzzle his hair. "It's true. And Gwen hasn't hurt anyone who couldn't heal from it yet. And she's had plenty of chances."

"Niq, Matt and Stacia know how to deal with an out of control wolf."

Olivia snorted. "And Stiles could learn. _Not_ telling him is what puts him in danger."

One corner of Derek's mouth twitched, trying to curl up. "I'm not sure he could. It involves staying still."

Olivia snorted and butted her head against his. "He still needs to know about the danger if he's going to protect himself against it, grandson."

It was hard to think that way. Hard to think of it as anything other than asking Stiles to spend more and more time in danger. Even if the danger was his six year old cousin. (And Gregory, whenever he began to change. And possibly Erin, eventually.)

"The hunters aren't much better, as an excuse." Olivia blew an amused laugh against his cheek. "Not after that stunt your mother pulled. I swear Edgar's probably _still_ rolling in his grave over that. Having the Argents back in town?" She swayed away and back, bumping against him. "I know you don't like it, but it makes us even safer. You know that."

He really didn't want to think about that. Not now.

"I'm scared, grandmother. What if he's scared of us? What if he leaves?"

"Better to find out sooner rather than later, don't you think?" She curled an arm around his shoulders and dropped her head against his. "You remember Thomas."

He remembered the _aftermath_ of Thomas. He remembered Laura methodically ripping apart tree after tree, and breaking her car down into its component parts.

"That's part of what scares me."

His grandmother hummed agreement and stood up. "And that fear will rule you, until you tell him."

She jumped down through the branches and left him to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again giving thanks to my enigmatic roommate, who has truly gone above and beyond in the last week. Which...y'all will supposedly start seeing the main bulk of that work in about three weeks. ;P But seriously. Living with my editor? _So helpful_.
> 
> [Mimssio](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mimssio) identified the [mystery tattoo-bearer](http://mensmensmens.tumblr.com/post/27652690301/jayjtaime-tattoo-on-his-left-forearm-of-pine) that I linked to in chapter 10 as Kyle Krieger. From that information? I found his tattoo artist! At least for his left forearm piece. That was done by [Kapten Hanna](http://idlehandsf.com/section/233439_Tattoos.html)Kapten Hanna, currently of [Idle Hands Tattoo](http://idlehandsf.com/home.html) in San Francisco. Their other artists are also excellent to hit up, but they tend to lean heavily toward more traditional tattoos.
> 
> For another link to explore, I offer up [Slave to the Needle](http://www.slavetotheneedle.com/) in Seattle. All of their artists have definite selling points (though I'll admit that some of those selling points are rather pointedly _not my thing_ ) and it's worth poking around their galleries. However, I personally am a particular fan of John Fitzgerald, Cindy Maxwell, and Aaron Bell.


	16. another day, another...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just noting that if anyone wants somewhere to talk with other fans of this fic, there should be a link to an open journal entry of mine at the current end of the story. Don't just make new threads, go and talk to each other! You will give me glee, even if you're talking about things you don't like as much.
> 
> As a note, some bits of this chapter were added in a bit of a rush, so any errors in this chapter are even more my fault than normal. Enigmatic roommate did not have time to fully decimate my work. (I still have several chapters of buffer. I just keep realizing I need to go back and add things in, before posting!)

Derek woke up in stages, which was unusual enough to feel strange and wrong even while barely conscious. Soft warmth, the neutral scents of his own space and lingering traces of pack.

Total darkness.

Derek blinked and pushed himself further out of his cocoon, but the world still wasn't making sense. No alarm, no nightmare, but...

He turned his head and blinked, staring until the numbers on his clock stopped squirming around in his brain and made sense. Four a.m. Of course the sun wasn't up yet. And the last time he'd seen the clock it was...seven. 

Derek took another moment to process that then scrunched down into the tangle of blankets he'd wrapped around himself while he slept. He wouldn't fall asleep again, he knew that, but the world seemed less complicated under his blankets.

He yawned wide enough to crack his jaw and curled up a bit tighter. He felt almost...normal. Maybe. It wasn't a feeling he'd seen in a long, long time.

Clearly, he needed to stay awake for a day and a half more often. 

The house was quiet, only the faint sounds of the pack sleeping inside. Outside, he could hear grass shifting under quiet feet. A quiet snort from his grandmother when her patrol disturbed...something. Raccoon or opossum probably. It was a lumbering sort of scurry. 

That meant the other footsteps should be his father, and they don't sound wrong for his father. So that was fine.

All was well.

He drifted there, letting the sounds of safety and pack lull him into a doze until he heard the sounds of dawn. Different skittering, different chirping, the trees and house creaking as the air pressure shifts.

Tania shoving Peter out of bed, because he wakes up fully alert and she...doesn't.

Derek slid out from under his covers with a contented rumble and finds a pair of pants he can wear around the house before flipping his bedding into some semblance of 'made' and heading to the kitchen.

Peter was already there, brewing coffee for his wife and pulling together...

"Pancakes?" Derek shoved his head over the bowl with an appreciative sniff. He could smell maple already. Peter must have put some in the batter.

Laughing, Peter shoved Derek's face out of the way with an elbow. "Not if you hover like that. Make yourself useful and take Tania her first cup?"

His tone was exaggeratedly hopeful, but Derek snorted and pulled a mug down. "Sure." Peter tossed a disbelieving eyebrow at him, and Derek shrugged. "I slept well."

Peter hummed but just smiled and went back to breakfast while Derek waited for the pot to be full enough. He didn't really appreciate coffee, but Tania did, and she had opinions about it. And he appreciated Tania.

Paul wandered in, eyeing Derek and the coffee maker before hooking his head over his brother's shoulder with an inquisitive grumble. Peter just rolled his eyes. "Yes. Pancakes. Is _everybody_ going to do this?"

"Yes," Paul and Derek answered in unison, exchanging a pleased smirk.

There was enough coffee, so Derek freed the pot and poured Tania's cup while Peter muttered about remembering why he never made pancakes. 

They all waited when the silence lingered expectantly for a moment. But Danielle wasn't there to butt in and come sniffing from Peter's other side. 

Derek huffed and added the ridiculous amount of sugar Tania liked in her first cup before heading upstairs. He passed his mother in the hall, her hair in hysterical disarray and eyes squinting in a bleary glower. When he slipped into Peter and Tania's room, he could hear her getting Jacob and Stacia up.

It was Monday. They had school.

Tania growled softly from under the covers but stopped after a moment and shoved her head out, sniffing and turning in his direction. 

He pushed the coffee into her outstretched hand, smiling when she sat up just enough to curl around it, adjusting Greg in his little nest at her side. "You know you're not actually addicted anymore."

"Shush," she grumbled, before her eyes closed in bliss at the first sip. "Psychological addiction is a thing. Go away."

Derek went. Because nobody argued with Tania before her coffee. 

Except Peter. But that was Peter.

While Derek made his way down the stairs, he had a great view of Jacob and Stacia wrestling with his dad in the entryway. It smelled like Olivia was still out somewhere, and sounded like Peter had bullied his brother into flipping pancakes while he saw to sausages. Matt was just coming down the steps behind him, still smelling like sleep and cotton.

It was kind of perfect, and Derek rested his hip against the banister while he took it in. The happy sounds of playful bickering and fighting. The smell of pack, happy, coffee, maple, fat, sweet-bread filling the whole house. The sheer relief of a full night's sleep.

Footsteps broke out upstairs. Tiny feet pounding in a run, just before Gwen started shrieking.

Derek caught Jacob without thinking about it, holding the cub up and twisting him until all the pointy bits were facing the other way. Jacob snarled, kicking and trying to get away. Get to Gwen.

Peter bypassed half the stairs and just jumped up onto the first landing. Derek could hear Tania pushing her blankets aside. Paul turning the stove off. His mother's soft comforting growl from where she caught Gwen. 

Kitchen and breakfast saved from catching on fire, Paul stepped out and surveyed the scene before darting up the stairs to grab Matt, who'd crouched on the landing to make himself small and still, but ready to move if he absolutely had to. Derek still had his hands full with Jacob, and his father had Stacia penned in with a hug to keep her from squirming away.

Paul snorted and lifted Matt up onto his shoulders, taking a moment to listen to the house before starting back toward the kitchen. "Well. That was fun."

\-----

The little moment of perfection didn't come back, but the terrors were eventually settled and appeased with pancakes and fatty meat. His mother and Tania were able to come down to join everyone else once Gwen was settled, curled up in bed with her father. And there had been at least some amusement for everyone at seeing Laura fall asleep at the table, hair unbrushed and wild from rolling out of bed hours too early.

Derek packed his bag and took off for work as soon as Tania had left to take Matt, Stacia and Jacob to school. It was an hour early, but he needed it. Needed the steady rhythm of his feet. Needed the uneven ground of the woods to focus on. Needed the calm of his breathing.

And if he still wound up being a few minutes late to work, at least Vic understood.

\-----

Derek wasn't sure what was more annoying, the fact that his head kept snapping up when someone approached the door to check if it was Stiles, or the fact that he kept doing this even though he knew that Stiles was _still in school_.

He wasn't even sure he actually wanted to see Stiles, yet. He was still so twisted up, trying to sort out how he felt, what it meant, what he _wanted_ it to mean. 

Some part of his brain kept pointing out that he had contacts in New York. Vic would hate him for it, but she'd help him if he wanted to finish his apprenticeship with someone else. He'd just have to uproot himself from everything he loved and valued and move somewhere with too few trees, to take a job he'd probably hate, and probably deal with a roommate he'd almost certainly hate. That couldn't be more complicated than figuring out all of this.

The only time his brain shut up, _really_ shut up, was when he was working. Properly working, not just manning the front desk like a trained monkey.

There was an anklet of poppies and lilacs. A cobweb behind an ear. A pair of wedding rings.

It was a reasonably busy day, and that was really the only saving grace to it.

But his head still came up every time it sounded like someone was approaching the door.

Vic took pity on him a little after noon and came around the wall to toss him a cleaned leg. "Give us something stark and eye-catching for the window. Pick a color and stick with it. You can have one additional shade for spot detail if you want it, but that's it."

He snorted and turned the mannequin leg over in his hands. "When by?"

"Tomorrow," she grinned, pushing away from the wall and walking over to mess up his hair. "You should be able to get an idea down and do the airbrushing at the end of your shift."

Derek rolled his eyes and batted Vic's hand away, but he set the leg aside carefully and pulled out his professional sketchbook to start working on ideas. Or, more accurately, to look through his previous ideas and see if anything he'd been playing around with might fit the bill.

Cara came in not long after, exchanging a kiss with her mate before complaining about the mess Vic had made. Derek wasn't sure if she meant something in the back or something at their apartment, and he wasn't going to ask.

Vic left. Cara changed the stereo from the mix CD Vic had let loop all day to the jazz station Derek preferred, thus cementing her position as his favorite for at least three days. Or until the next time she hogged all of Stiles' time. Whichever came first.

They hit a lull and he had his head down and was carefully identifying the interaction points of various curves for the design he was 90% sure he'd be using for the leg by the time the next customer came in. Derek's head hadn't come up before they'd hit the door, and he was going to call that a win.

He was counting it a win even though he hadn't looked up because it hadn't _sounded_ like Stiles, even from a distance.

It was Thigh-of-dicks, so Derek just nodded and gestured him over to the consultation counter. He could hear Cara already walking toward the front, so he really didn't have to do anything.

Despite Vic and whatever mess she'd made, Cara's day was apparently made of sunshine and puppies. Thigh-of-dicks had a more coherent idea of what he wanted this time, and finally agreed with Cara that it would be more suited to his calf, if they put a flesh toned grass border in along the bottom.

Whatever. He was still Thigh-of-dicks to Derek. The mental image wasn't one that would go away.

But the design was going to be complex and colorful, with a lot of small, intricate and fantastical details. It was the kind of tattoo Cara _loved_ , so she spent the next _hour_ bouncing about like a chickadee on speed. It made an interesting counterpoint to the jazz.

Derek was engrossed in placing fragments from a broken arc when something eased in his chest, drawing his attention up to the door a moment before Stiles pushed it open. 

His scent filled the space, even though he'd just come in. Even though he should be covered in high school. Even though he was still ten feet away.

And... _this_ he recognized. Paul had talked about it. About always being able to find Dominique's scent, even under whatever (usually horrifying) perfume she'd had on. Even days later, or leaking out a building through a patio door she'd never really used.

His mother had been right. He had been dense bordering on willfully stupid.

It was just so much easier to understand when Stiles was _there_.

Stiles didn't immediately approach the counter. The sheepish smile he gave Derek faded into a confused frown as he sidled over to peer around the wall. He raised his eyebrows at where Cara was, from the sound of it, trying to dance and sweep at the same time, in the back.

Looking back at Derek, Stiles raised his eyes to the ceiling, then gestured vaguely between the speakers and Cara.

Derek ducked his head and grinned, shaking his head. "It has nothing to do with the music."

"Oh good." Stiles pulled his stool over to the counter. "So..."

Derek closed his sketchbook and stepped down to the end of the counter, braced his forearms against the glass so they were pressed up against Stiles' and smirked as he leaned into Stiles' space. "So?"

"...jerk," Stiles whispered, but he was grinning. His scent spiked into _want_ and his heart rate skipped its way to a faster beat, coordinating oddly well with the sound of Cara's happy shuffle.

"So I've been told." Derek leaned in the last few inches and brushed his lips over Stiles'. 

It lasted longer, this time. More than a peck, there and gone before it could be appreciated. This was a slow, gentle slide of lips, breath mingling in the space between them. Stiles smiled and leaned in, making the press harder, letting his lips part and his teeth brush the swell of Derek's lower lip. 

Derek hummed low in his throat, just barely too high to be a growl, and nipped gently back at Stiles' mouth before pulling away. 

It was har--difficult. It was _difficult_ , not to chase the frustrated little noise Stiles made back down his throat. Instead, he leaned back and out of Stiles' space to--

\--watch the warm brown of his irises return as his pupils contracted abruptly. The expression on his face sliding from hazy desire to confusion, then concern.

"Hey, are you okay?" Stiles leaned forward abruptly, reaching for Derek's cheek before his hand shied back uncertainly. "Your eyes..."

Were probably blue. And glowing. Derek blinked and covered his eyes with one hand, sinking his face down into the support of his hand and sighing.

"Derek?"

"I'm fine."

Stiles huffed and shoved lightly against his shoulder. "Yeah, I can tell. You're acting _totally_ fine. This is, like, the definition of acting fine."

Derek lifted his head to level a mild glare at Stiles, once he was fairly sure he had his eyes under control again. "I'm _fine_."

"Dude. Your eyes are _changing color_ ," Stiles announced, standing up on the bottom rung of his stool so he could lean even closer. "I mean, really _drastically_ changing color. That’s kind of awesome, in a bad-fantasy-novel kind of way, but it's not medically normal."

He felt his lips quirking up as he pushed Stiles back down onto the stool. "It even runs in the family."

Which was the honest truth, after all.

"I need to see this," Stiles stated, nodding firmly. "This is something I need to see."

"Next time we have you over," Derek hedged. "But speaking of family..."

Stiles rolled his eyes and made a grabby-hands gesture at Derek's sketchbook. "Dad totally Jossed me," he said, as though that made any sense at all. Derek shoved his professional sketchbook away and pulled out theirs instead, passing it over to Stiles. "He knew I had a date and he stayed up until I got home? So he was totally acting like a creeper and watching us from inside the house. Which was kind of not how I wanted to broach the subject, but it worked out alright. Or...y'know, not tragically, at least."

Derek nodded and pressed a pencil into his hand. Stiles opened the book to the page they'd left on, which so far was a random collection of birds and leaf shapes, and a single snake coiled up in one corner. 

"So," Stiles started, selecting one of the birds that Derek had sketched in and shading in a black band around its neck. "We talked about the whole guy thing, and the bisexual thing. Then we touched on the age thing, and the fact that he was disappointed and unhappy that I hadn't told him first."

"That's a lot of talking. About things."

"Fun-ny!" Stiles mocked him, rolling his eyes. "But really, if it surprises you that I talk a lot, then I wonder who it is _you_ went on a date with on Saturday. 'Cause it wasn't me."

Derek smiled and added some geometric markings to a jay's tail. "So what's the verdict?"

"Well, I'm glad you waited until today to kiss me," Stiles said with a faint blush, "because I was able to honestly tell my dad that you hadn't even kissed me yet. And I think that helped."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. That--it went somewhere kind of weird." Stiles shrugged and turned his attention more firmly to the bird he was carefully shading in. "But he's willing to believe that maybe you're not a creeper, since you're not pressuring me. And since I might have told him you're looking forward to coming over to meet him. So you have to actually act like that's something you want to do. Sorry."

"Don't," Derek hesitated, trying to find words to go with what he was feeling. "I do want to." He raised an eyebrow and smiled at Stiles when he jerked his head up in surprise. "Really, Stiles."

And it was true. He was worried about it, but Stiles loved his dad and it wasn't like he'd be able to stop worrying before they met.

Besides, it was probably best to get the first meeting over with before the Sheriff had any reason to think that normal threats wouldn't be entirely effective.

The look Stiles was giving him shifted abruptly to incredulous. "You remember that he's the sheriff, right? And has guns? Well, _a_ gun."

_Werewolf_ , the back of his brain responded, but Derek kept it out of his mouth and smiled instead. "Won't give him a reason to use it. It'll be fine."

Stiles scoffed, but he seemed to relax. "You keep thinking that. One of us needs to be optimistic." Derek moved on to a raptor, and Stiles reached over to add a squiggle to each geometric repeat on the jay's tail. It was a good addition, and Derek grunted approval. Stiles leaned in against his arm, smiling. 

"So, anyway," Stiles continued, "when would be a good night for you? To do dinner at my place and meet my dad, I mean. And, like, this week, maybe?"

Derek slanted a look at Stiles out of the corner of his eye. Stiles, who was frowning intently down at the sketchbook but not actually doing anything anymore. "What aren't you telling me?"

Stiles exhaled roughly, letting the air blow through his lips rather than opening his mouth. It was, honestly, kind of obnoxious and immature, and why did he insist on loving somebody so ridiculous?

"Okay, so. The thing is that Dad kinda doesn't want us dating until he's had a chance to 'talk' to you? Which I'm assuming means mentioning the gun, and the law, and all sorts of other horrifically embarrassing things, and I'm not sure if I should stay nearby out of solidarity or run away screaming to avoid having to hear it." 

...and honest, and open, and brave, and intriguing, and okay, maybe he was still just thoroughly screwed.

"It's alright for you to hang out here, though?" Derek asked, pushing away from the sketchbook and reaching for the schedule.

"Yeah. We're never alone all that long, which, whatever." Stiles rolled his eyes. "I don't think the others are going to get all up in our business if we're kissing or something."

Derek snorted. "Not unless they were taking pictures, no." He glanced over the schedule just to make sure he had everything right, while Stiles spluttered in the background. "I open tomorrow and Thursday, so I'll be getting off work about the time you're off school..."

"So I could swing by and pick you up?" Stiles leaned over, grinning. "Tomorrow works. Thursday he'll be working in the evening, so not so good."

"Tomorrow, then." Derek added a note to his schedule that he'd be unavailable after three.

\-----

That night, Derek set the leg and Stiles' finalized template aside for Vic. She'd file the design in with the rest of Stiles' materials, and from a work perspective, he was done. Now all they were waiting on was time.

...and he _still_ didn't know when Stiles' birthday was.

Dammit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No new tattoo artist links today, as I am utterly exhausted. But instead, please accept [a hedgehog being rocked in tattooed arms/hands](http://i-think-we-should-sex.tumblr.com/post/38313000990), as it is ridiculously adorable.


	17. this is what we call a tuna moment

There was something in his room.

Derek's eyes snapped open just before it moved, launching from the doorway to his bed, pinning him down. He tensed, halfway through shifting before the scent registered.

" _Laura_." He left his snarl in the word, but Laura just laughed and shook her head so her hair brushed against his nose. 

"So. You nervous?"

Snorting, he pushed one of her legs out from underneath her and used the brief moment she was off balance to shove her onto the floor.

"ow."

"Cry harder," he suggested, standing and twisting to get the kinks out of his back. He needed a harder mattress.

His alarm went off, but Laura beat him to it, spitefully hitting 'snooze' instead of 'off' before running cackling out the door.

Derek sighed and collapsed back onto his bed, seriously contemplating just lying there until his alarm went off again. "What did I do to deserve this family."

Upstairs in his parents' room, his mother snorted loudly. "Don't make us answer that."

 _How_ did Laura know there was something to be nervous about?

\-----

"Thaaank- _you_!" Peter sang out, hooking Derek's bag up from the floor.

Derek growled and lunged after his bag, but Peter was faster than him and had it well out of reach by the time he'd had a chance to react. Also, it felt more than a little ridiculous to try and pursue someone while clutching a piece of toast between his teeth. Doubly so when peanut butter was involved.

"Now, now. No reason to be feisty. I'm just checking on something." Peter turned his head to grin at Derek, his hands busy opening the bag. When he got a look at his spoils, he made a pained noise. " _Really_ Derek?"

God damn peanut butter. Derek did his best to chew pointedly in his uncle's direction before reaching for his milk.

"No. This simply won't do. I'll help." Peter breezed out of the room, still holding Derek's bag. "I'll be in your room. You finish eating."

Like hell. Derek folded the rest of his toast in half and shoved the entire thing into his mouth, grabbing his glass as he headed upstairs after his uncle.

Who had his head buried in Derek's closet. What. The hell.

"This is better." Peter pulled out a grey button-up shirt Derek hadn't worn since he'd graduated from art school. "If it fits. Here, try it on before you go."

He didn't hand the shirt to Derek, but hooked the hanger over the door. Then he started examining Derek's shelves. "You have a pair of jeans that aren't ripped, right? I know it's fashionable, but this is meeting the parent, not trying out for head cheerleader."

Derek, caught swallowing the last of his milk, tried furiously not to choke on it.

"Oh good, you do. And of course they're black." Peter sighed and shook the jeans out, eyeing them critically. "Colors exist, nephew."

Shaking his head, Derek snatched the jeans away from Peter. " _No_. Laura bought those."

"For your next date, then?" Peter grinned with all his teeth, but it was aimed into the closet. "Maybe you could go bowling."

"Ooooh, competitive ass ogling." Dominique poked her head in, one hand cupped loosely around Erin's head to keep it steady, just in case. "Can we make it a family event? I want to watch."

Derek whined and cast around for his bag, edging toward it and his bed. "Can we not do this? How did you know I was meeting his dad tonight?"

"David ran into him at the grocery store last night." Peter pulled himself out of Derek's closet long enough to quirk a critical eyebrow in his direction. "Which you'd know, if you weren't devoting so much effort to avoiding your family."

"Maybe if my family wasn't being so ridiculous..."

Niq blew a kiss at him. "We love you too." She pulled the grey shirt down off the door and leaned in further, waving the hanger in Peter's direction. "I remember this shirt, it is _not_ going to fit. He'd bust the shoulder seams." She turned back to Derek and chuffed irritation at him, almost as well as a wolf. "Seriously, Derek. You need to weed out your clothes occasionally."

Peter made a noise of agreement from inside the closet. "He still has some of his _painting_ clothes in here."

Because he still used them. Sometimes even for painting.

"Niq, darling, do you have time to do some shopping today?" Peter asked, pulling his head out. "He needs a decent outfit for tonight, and his working clothes do _not_ cut it."

Derek huffed but sat on the bed and resigned himself to being ignored. He hadn't had much hope of resisting Peter's interference, but with Niq involved there wasn't even much point to even trying. 

He maintained that there was nothing wrong with a black t-shirt and blue jeans, though. The jeans were only a little ripped at the hems, anyway.

"I can eyeball shirts, but I'll need a size for pants. Oh! Can you grab out that pair with the pocket ripped off?" Niq finally stepped into the room, leaning around Peter. "Those looked great on him before Danielle ripped the ass out."

"You think he still has those?" Peter made a face but ducked back into the closet.

Niq rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on. It's _Derek_. Of course he does."

Technically, he did. As rags. Not that he was going to bother telling them that. "If you're doing this anyway, can I go now? I'd like to get to work on time."

Peter and Dominique both waved him off, and Derek slunk out with his bag.

His dad caught him at the door with a pat on the shoulder and a sympathetic look that was mostly spoiled by the upward tick at the corner of his mouth.

Derek glared at him, even though his heart wasn't really in it. "This is _your_ fault."

The smile finally spread over his dad's face as he shrugged, smiling down at Greg when the movement earned him a sleepy protest. "Want a ride in today?"

"Are you kidding?" Derek snorted and took off into the woods, letting the rhythm of the run sink into his bones and settle his thoughts.

\-----

It was a short shift for work, but it felt endless. The two appointments he had were both for fairly stark blackwork pieces, neither of which required his full attention. Niq breezed in just before 2:00 in one of her full on 'trust me' skirt suits and carrying a garment bag.

She looked about as out of place as possible. But she also wasn't wearing her perfume yet, which was a plus.

Derek folded his arms on top of the counter and slumped down to rest his head on them, squinting up at her. "Really?"

Niq rolled her eyes. "I didn't want to wrinkle the shirt, so I took measures. I didn't buy you a suit." She jiggled the bag at him. "Do you have somewhere to hang this up? I can take the bag with me if you want, but I don't have a lot of time here."

He snorted but stood up and took the bag. "Open house?" he asked, walking around the counter and gesturing for Niq to follow.

She groaned as she trailed after him, the sound of her heels clipping over the linoleum making a sharp counterpoint against the silence that went along with Derek being alone in the shop. "I _wish_. No, I've got a pair of newlyweds to show around. She wants modern, he wants homey, and they don't really know what they're looking for yet. I'm hoping that actually seeing some houses and talking out the pros and cons of the various options will help."

Tony came in while Derek was pulling his assigned outfit out of the bag, which resulted in a bit of awkward shuffling while Dominique smothered a laugh in the background.

"Hel _lo_ ," Tony grinned at Niq, sliding back around Derek while he tried to extract the hangers without much elbow room. "Who are you and what's going on?"

"That's my aunt," Derek gritted out, before Niq could answer. "Dominique, who is married to my uncle Paul, who has easy access to chain saws, shovels, and pruning shears that would make you weep. She's also the evil soul-twin of my uncle Peter, who has easy access to cleavers. So don't start."

Niq pouted at Derek but didn't bother trying to correct him. She couldn't, after all. It was pretty much true.

Tony shrugged and winked at Niq. "No harm in looking?" They traded grins as Tony moved past her into the shop proper, though he didn't go far. "But you didn't answer my other question. What's going on?"

Derek was busy staring in consternation at the dark blue dress shirt he'd unearthed, so Niq jumped on the chance to answer. "We're trying to make him look like a respectable adult for when he meets the Sheriff. A respectable adult who wears colors."

"False advertizing," Tony chortled as he disappeared around the wall, heading further into the parlor. "Next thing you know, you'll be trying to convince the poor man that Derek doesn't also hate happiness. Seriously, man, how do you stand the quiet?"

The shop stereo kicked on, set to a soft rock station and soft enough that Derek didn't want to claw his ears off, at least. 

"I like quiet."

"And you like your monochrome wardrobe," Dominique said, leaning in to pat his shoulder. "We know. We just want you to look nice for tonight. And," she added, gesturing to the shirt, "I didn't get a color you don't already wear. Most of your jeans are technically blue."

Derek gave her a dry look and handed the garment bag back. "Not that blue."

"No, but. Baby steps." She leaned in to take the bag and kissed him on the cheek before turning to leave. "Trust me, it'll do wonders for your eyes. Oh, and wear the t-shirt under the button up. And leave the top layer open a few buttons! You want to look nice, not stuffed up."

"Too late," Tony offered from the prep station, which had Niq laughing brightly as she left.

\-----

The plan was that Derek would step out a few minutes before the end of his shift to change, so it wouldn't be horribly obvious that his family had decided they needed to dress him for the occasion. But then they had a walk-in for a consult.

Derek and Tony were both leaning over the pages the customer had brought in when Stiles showed up, trading motifs back and forth and turning them to see how they matched up side to side or in diagonals. Stiles raised his eyebrows at the little cluster they made, but Derek just gestured him over with a smile.

The customer smiled nervously at Stiles, scooting over so he could pull another stool into the huddle. "Um. Hi?"

Stiles grinned at her before looking over the designs, frowning faintly. "What _is_ that?'

"It's...blackwork motifs?" she offered, laughing incredulously. "For embroidery. I mean. I thought this would be a neat thing to do? But..."

Tony stole one of the squares Derek had been using and he nearly growled at him over it. "It is. I want to do this." The back of his brain was ready to hunch possessively over the commission, even though they hadn't discussed...anything, really. 

Technically, it had been Tony's consultation. But he'd called Derek over once she started pulling her examples out, and as far as he was concerned that meant it was his now.

Stiles snorted and rolled his eyes at them, when the customer continued to look confused. "Here," he said, getting up from his stool and fetching Derek and Tony's portfolios from the bookshelf. "That's Derek, and this is the kind of work he does. The other portfolio is for Tony." He pointed at Derek, "You. Get your stuff, you're off shift. Tony can schedule her next consultation."

Derek wanted to grumble, but the woman was leafing through his portfolio with almost as much interest as they'd given her pile of motifs. Which was a good sign.

"Mine," he said anyway, poking Tony's shoulder as he headed to the back to...change clothes. Damnit.

Rolling his eyes, Derek turned around to call back, "I need to change."

"What?" Stiles frowned and looked up from where he was looking at the blackwork designs (the traitor). "Why?"

"Because _you_ told my family I'm meeting your dad tonight."

Tony curled his head down and tried to hide a snort as a cough (useless) while the customer just looked baffled. Stiles's face transitioned quickly from confused to sheepish. "Oh. Uh. ...whoops?"

"Yeah." Derek grabbed his bag and the prescribed outfit and headed for the bathroom.

The jeans fit, but Derek doubted Dominique had actually gotten the measurements from a pair of jeans he could still wear. They weren't as bad as the jeans Laura insisted he'd need if he ever wanted to get a date (shows what she knew), but they were...not subtle. And the legs didn't fit over his boots, so they had to go inside.

The shirt was better, loose enough that he could still move his arms without feeling like he was going to cut off his circulation. Or rip something, which was actually more likely. 

He tucked the shirt in as best he could and eyed himself in the mirror. 

It was him plus color, and some buttons. Whoop-de-do.

Derek sighed, stuffed his work pants into his bag and headed back out.

The customer was talking scheduling with Tony at the register and Stiles was sitting on Vic's normal stool, slowly spinning himself from side to side with one foot jiggling in a nervous rhythm.

It was kind of amazing how he managed to pick out Vic's stool almost every time. Aside from Vic herself, Derek was the only one who could identify it reliably from all the other identical wheeled stools.

Up at the front, Tony confirmed an appointment for the next day with Derek, and Derek grinned, not caring that he was baring his teeth at Stiles, because Stiles was looking down and this meant that _he_ got to play with those fascinating blocks of delicate lines and curls. 

So of course, that's when Stiles looked up.

If asked later, Derek would guess that Stiles had tried to both continue his gentle twisting and take a step forward at the same time. In the moment, all that really registered was Stiles' mouth going slack, then his eyes going wide and panicked as he fell off the stool in an ungainly heap.

Derek crossed the distance a bit faster than he should have, but he doubted Stiles would have noticed even if he hadn't immediately slapped a hand over his eyes. He didn't smell significantly hurt and there was no trace of blood, so Derek waved Tony off when he peered around the wall. "I got it."

He righted the stool and crouched cautiously next to Stiles, testing how well the jeans moved with him. Just in case. "You alright?"

Stiles didn't smell _hurt_ , but he did _reek_. Arousal and alarm primarily, slowly being matched by the rising sour-wood of embarassment. Derek bit his lip, trying not to smile.

Okay, maybe he owed Niq a favor.

"Why does your family hate me?" Stiles still had a hand over his eyes, but he was otherwise apparently content to spread out on the floor. Which, frankly, was disgusting no matter how much or how often they cleaned it. "I thought they liked me. Then they did this."

"You don't like the shirt?"

Stiles dropped his hands to glare at Derek. "You. Look. Like. Sex." he enunciated carefully, and Derek tried not to laugh. The bell on the door rang as Blackwork Embroidery left, and Tony walked over to sit on the consultation counter to watch the show.

"You look like sex," Stiles repeated, "and I have to have dinner with you. And my _father_. With you. Looking like that." He thumped his head back against the mat before making a face as he finally registered what he might be lying on. "And I need a shower now, and oh god," Stiles flushed, reaching up to cover his face again. "I didn't mean it that way. I was not talking about-- It's just-- The floor. And--"

"Stiles."

"Shutting up."

Derek shook his head, swallowing his laughter and snagging one of Stiles' hands to pull him up. "I just thought you might appreciate being stopped."

"Yeah." Stiles nodded, letting Derek stand and pull him up. But then he was frowning faintly and staring at...Derek's knees? Derek glanced down briefly to see if he'd gotten dirty, but his knees had never even touched the floor and there didn't seem to be anything else wrong.

"So, right." Stiles nodded again, pulling his hand back to brush off his ass as well as he could. "Now that I've thoroughly embarrassed myself. Shall we?"

\-----

Derek had to roll his window down while Stiles drove to keep from choking on the hormones and nerves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another no-tattoo-links week, sorry. To make it up for you though, I have some other AO3 links for you. [The AU Fluff 'Verse](http://archiveofourown.org/series/27311) by [mieraspeller](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mieraspeller/pseuds/mieraspeller) is an adorable Hales-lived AU that involves what I think is the most wonderful and adorable request for a date ever. (Though be warned, Fluff 'Verse or not there are some grisly elements, including the death of a child.) [Incantation Ink](http://archiveofourown.org/series/32114) by [otter](http://archiveofourown.org/users/otter/pseuds/otter) involves magical tattoo apprentice Stiles, and some astonishingly gorgeous textual imagery. Finally, [Stilinski Custom Cakes](http://archiveofourown.org/series/30769) by [wearing tearing](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wearing_tearing/pseuds/wearing_tearing) is a bit more on the crack end, but has Derek, Isaac and Erica as tattoo artists (Boyd's their piercer), and is a fast and lovely read.
> 
> If you're curious about the blackwork motifs mentioned, I definitely recommend doing a bit of digging yourself, because it can be astonishingly beautiful stuff. The ones being discussed here however are [primarily](http://www.needlenthread.com/2010/10/free-blackwork-design-leaves.html) [like](http://www.northernneedle.net/Blackwork/bluesnowflake5.JPG) [these](http://meggregory.files.wordpress.com/2008/10/blackwork.jpg). Though if you look at them, you can probably see how the designs could be broken down into blocks.
> 
> A quick note on the chapter title: it's enigmatic roommate's fault. Our discussions tend to involve a lot of talk about hitting people with fish (don't judge us), and while we were passing the edits for this section back and forth, we tended to refer to Stiles' gobsmacked moment at Tinge as him being hit with the tuna of lust. Again, my roommate started it.
> 
> End result, however, is that the scene had to be paired up with a chapter heading about tuna, otherwise I'd never be able to find it again.


	18. small, sad, and empty

Stiles' home was small, but that wasn't surprising. Most human houses weren't designed to hold upwards of twenty pack members. What was surprising was how... _empty_ it felt, once they got inside.

"So, yeah," Stiles puffed his cheeks out and exhaled slowly, looking around as he rubbed a hand over his hair. "Uh, not as impressive as your place, but it's just the two of us now. And yeah."

Stiles stopped abruptly and braced himself against a wall to toe his shoes off, so Derek crouched to unlace his boots. "It has the advantage of quiet," he offered, not really able to comment on the rest.

"That is definitely true," Stiles nodded. "And generally speaking, nobody's going to sprawl over your car in the driveway, which I seem to recall being a problem you have."

Derek snorted, looking around. From a pack perspective, the house was tiny. Not suitable for more than seven or eight, and that was assuming half of them were kids or unattached adults willing to share sleeping space.

But there were only two strong impressions of people. Stiles was easy to identify, and the other had to be his father. They mingled and meshed in the way that family should, Stiles smelling a bit more of wood and earth and his father of spice and gun oil, but at the base nearly the same.

"But, yeah. So. House," Stiles interrupted Derek's thoughts, turning around and spreading his arms out. "Living room, fairly basic. Television, couch, coffee table. And the stairs, which go upstairs." He gestured broadly toward the stairs, spreading another wave of nervous-Stiles to overlay the more entrenched scents. "That's where the bedrooms and bathroom are, and Dad's office. Not that he uses it much, but we like to pretend.

"And, yeah, dining room." Stiles pointed to the round table in the adjacent room, in case he might have missed it. "Again, fairly basic. Y'know. Table. Chairs. And conveniently, it's connected to the kitchen."

Derek stopped Stiles from trying to introduce him to the kitchen by getting a gentle grip on the back of his neck. "Slow down. Breathe."

Stiles went still at the touch, leaning back against his hand with a shaky exhale. "I'm fine. Just nervous."

"I'm the one who'd be getting shot at."

Stiles' jaw dropped and he gaped for a moment before laughing. "Oh my god," he gasped, shoving at Derek's shoulder. "That doesn't help, jerk."

Derek ducked his head and smiled before giving Stiles' neck a light squeeze and dropping his hand. "It made you laugh."

"Yeah, fine, whatever." Stiles rolled his eyes, looking away. "Uh, I should probably. Dinner."

"Want help?"

Stiles shot a suspicious glance his way. "Why?"

He shrugged, aiming for nonchalant. "Just offering."

In all honesty, he remembered a bit too well some of the cooking disasters Stiles had described on their date.

"I _can_ cook, you know," Stiles asserted, his scent going peppery and stubborn. Derek raised his hands in surrender, not that it stopped Stiles. "I mean, I'm no expert but it's been years since I couldn't manage something basic. So you just stay out of the way."

Stiles poked his arm for good measure before stalking toward the kitchen with a "Want anything to drink?" tossed over his shoulder.

Derek ran a hand over his face, exasperated and grinning all at once. "I'm fine."

Alone in the living room, the scents were easier to pick apart. Stiles and what Derek assumed was his father, yes. Those traces were strong, soaked into the room over years of contact, but they were also oddly...stale. Like the people who lived here avoided it. 

It was...sad.

Also creepy as fuck.

Those weren't the only people scents, though. When Derek pressed a hand into the cushions of the couch, he could smell another. Male, teenager, more earthy than Stiles and carrying heavy traces of antiseptics and dogs. It was old, though. Months, at least.

It was strange, there being only one person who visited often enough for their scent to sink in. Had visited.

Why weren't there others? Why had this one faded?

Stiles...spent a _lot_ of time at Tinge, particularly over the summer. Was that irrelevant, an indication of a problem, or the _cause_?

In the background, Stiles started humming. It was just a few brief snatches of something that he repeated and expanded, as though he was trying to remember how it went, but it was enough of a distraction to let Derek turn away from that thought.

If he let it, his brain would tie itself in knots from the possibilities when there was no way to know without asking Stiles.

No way that wasn't intrusive or seriously creepy, at least.

Snorting softly, Derek turned away from the couch to continue exploring. The other scents of the space were unsurprising: dust, grease, alcohol, gun oil, soap. 

There was a trace of smoke and beeswax he tracked to one corner. A pillar candle, rarely burned and gathering dust, arranged at the center of a ring of fake flowers. 

The fabric of the flowers had the faintest remnants of a woman's scent clinging to them, and Derek backed off so quickly he might, maybe, have tripped.

And possibly only barely managed to keep himself upright by slamming a hand against the wall.

No claws. Small miracles.

"You okay?" Stiles' head followed his voice around the corner from the kitchen.

Derek pushed himself back up with as much dignity as possible. "Yeah, fine. Just..."

"Tripped?" Stiles offered with a grin. "From the looks of it...on air?" Derek rolled his eyes with an annoyed huff and Stiles' grin stretched wider. "Ahunh. That's what I thought." He jerked his chin toward the wall. "You knocked one of the photos sideways."

Stiles disappeared again, leaving Derek to blink at the wall. The photo he'd bumped was of Stiles, smiling tiredly up at the photographer from a bench, wearing a BHHS uniform and a lacrosse stick braced against his shoulder. 

He hadn't even noticed there were photos on the wall. They...didn't have much of a scent.

Derek carefully pushed the frame back into something approaching straight, and glanced over the cluster around it. 

They were all Stiles.

A toddler in the bath with a crown of bubbles and giving the camera a look of perfect disgust. A little older than the terrors, with a tooth missing and holding up a fish nearly the length of his forearm. Another, about the same age, getting ready to swing a wiffle bat at a T-ball. Matt's age, or around it, holding an award of some kind in front of his chest. Slightly older, in a little league uniform and holding up a small trophy. Same age visually, leaning against another boy and laughing with a birthday cake in front of them. The lacrosse photo.

The age difference niggled at his brain, and Derek went back to the birthday photograph. Counted the candles.

Eleven. Stiles' mother died when he was eleven.

Unsettled, Derek looked away from the little constellation of happy memories. They were displayed openly, but...

There were no scents of strangers in the house. This was a closely guarded territory, and it left him feeling that he'd trespassed, somehow.

The closeness of the house was suddenly smothering; like there wasn't enough air inside the walls. It was too dense with the scents of only two men, stale loneliness and sadness and a desperate edge of effort.

In the kitchen, Stiles was humming again, with the occasional muffled thump or thunk suggesting he was poking through the fridge and cabinets. The sound wasn't familiar or comforting on its own, but _Stiles_ was.

Derek let himself be drawn toward the kitchen and leaned in the doorway. He had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Stiles was... 

Dancing wasn't quite the right word. It was a sort of jerky shuffle with exaggerated head bobbing that, more than anything, reminded Derek of nature documentaries. 

Specifically, the mating habits of birds.

Despite the noise, it looked like all Stiles had actually accomplished was getting out a bag of green bell peppers and...an onion, that he was carrying around the kitchen with him.

Stiles stopped in his shuffle for a moment to frown at a cabinet without opening it, his fingers tapping out a quick rhythm against his thigh. Derek took a step forward, then another when Stiles didn't react. "Are you sure I..."  
"JESUS _FUCK_."

Derek stepped back quickly, avoiding the elbow Stiles threw out as he turned around, darting forward to catch him when he lost his balance. They blinked at each other for a few moments, Stiles' heartbeat hammering between them.

After a moment, the flush in Stiles' skin intensified, and Derek smiled. He spread his fingers out, pressing in lightly as he dragged them forward and down until his hands were settled on Stiles' hips. 

Musk. Spice. Apple.

Addictive.

Stiles swallowed and poked at his chest with a glare that was so faked it was almost comical. "You are meeting my _dad_ tonight. Stop that."

Derek had to hold back a happy rumble; settled instead for leaning forward and brushing their noses together before backing off. He grinned when Stiles deflated a bit, then grimaced and rubbed at his nose.

"Okay. House rule," Stiles said once he was done assaulting his nose. "Make some sort of _noise_ while you walk. I don't care if you stomp your feet or sing showtunes or something but just, dude, _noise_. Okay?"

"Okay." Derek felt his lip twitching up, and didn't really care to rein the smile in. "Are you going to stop threatening me with produce, now?"

Stiles blinked and looked down at where he had been gesturing pointedly at Derek with the onion and grimaced. "Your fault. _Totally your fault_ ," he declared as he turned and set the onion down next to the peppers. "So, yeah. Produce. That's what I was doing." He nodded decisively, as though that had needed the confirmation. "I was thinking either spaghetti or stir fry for dinner. Because I am not as awesome at cooking as your family is. But either way, peppers will be involved because they're tonight's vegetable de jour."

"Stir fry sounds good." Derek leaned around Stiles to pick the onion up and listened as his heart rate bumped up again. "I can prep the vegetables if you want. You were talking about a shower earlier."

"I already said I don't...." Stiles blinked and sighed, slipping around Derek to poke his head in the refrigerator. "No, okay, that makes sense. Hey, how are you at slicing things thin? Because I'm, eh--yeah. So I don't use carrots because they come out all dense and unevenly cooked. But--"

Derek snorted and started looking around for knives and cutting boards. "Stiles? I can cut any vegetable any way you want it. Just help me get started."

Stiles took him at his word, hauling out carrots, summer squash, mushrooms, and...bean sprouts. Derek hoped Stiles didn't want those cut.

"Mostly, everything just needs to be washed and cut kinda thin. I'll start the carrots and onions first, because they take forever, then throw other stuff in as it makes sense, so it doesn't matter if the rest of it is weird and odd shaped." Stiles grabbed a plastic cutting board out from the drawer beneath the oven, unsettling more than a few pots in the process, before turning to a drawer for a knife.

It was a good thing he was looking away, because Derek didn't even think to hide his horrified look at the treatment those knives were getting. He was obviously spending too much time with Peter.

Stiles paused once he had things set out, blinking at the pile of vegetables he'd left out. "And the bean sprouts, obviously, don't need cutting. You can ignore those. I can leave them out if you want, I like to add them right at the end so they're still crunchy but--"

Derek pulled Stiles back and aimed him at the stairs, where Stiles had waved when he'd talked about his room. "Shower. Change. Calm down."

"Right."

Derek rolled up the sleeves on his shirt as footsteps thumped up the stairs. All of the produce and his hands needed to be washed, and he needed to investigate that knife drawer. Because what Stiles had pulled out was a boning knife.

Washing most of the vegetables didn't take long. He had to look around for a clean kitchen towel (well, 'look' in the sense of 'smell for laundry') and used a corner of that for the mushrooms. If they didn't have a knife block they almost certainly didn't have a mushroom brush. 

Upstairs, the shower turned on and...that was the first shirt hitting the ground. Then the second.

Derek turned to the knife drawer to distract himself, jerking it open to send the contents rattling and focusing on that. The assortment of knives was...strange. Two boning knives, four steak knives, a cleaver, and a small chef's knife. Only the cleaver had a reasonable edge, probably because there wasn't much call to use it.

He was judging their kitchen. Derek snorted and resolved to spend less time with Peter. After he'd told his uncle enough to ensure that he'd have support for getting them a basic knife block. With knives.

And a sharpening stone, since there wasn't one of those in the drawer either. The chef's knife was sharp _enough_ at least, so he wouldn't have to grimace his way through using the boning knife.

He started with the onions, mostly to get them out of his way. It didn't take a lot of brain power to trim, peel, split and slice an onion, though. Derek was fairly sure he could do it in his sleep, at this point. 

Which meant when Stiles stopped humming with a brief yelp, a squeak of skin against a wet surface, a plastic clatter and a faint thump, he had almost all of Derek's attention immediately. But Stiles was muttering about stupid distractions and there was a bottle of some sort being put back in place, so it didn't sound like he was hurt.

Derek relaxed and went back to finishing off the onion, but he listened as Stiles ducked his head under the spray. As he wiped his face free of water and gasped once he emerged. As he groaned and, Derek thought, thunked his head against the wall. As he swore under his breath and...

The carrot Derek had just picked up snapped in his grip. He took a deep breath, grateful that he couldn't smell anything but the kitchen and vegetables and the general scent of Stiles' family, and set the carrot aside. There was a brief pause in the steady sound of skin on skin from upstairs and Stiles... The _noise_ he made.

Derek closed his eyes and pushed the carrots and the squash out of the way. He was going to focus on the vegetables. Specifically, he was going to focus on the _non-phallic_ vegetables, in the hopes of retaining some semblance of sanity.

He glanced at the mushrooms, but Thigh-of-Dicks' consultation was still firm in his memory, even if white button mushrooms weren't particularly disturbing on their own.

Peppers it was.

So Derek trimmed and seeded the first pepper, and didn't listen _at all_ to the soft gasps and bitten off moans in the shower upstairs. He made his prepwork more engrossing as a coping mechanism, slicing the peppers in careful diagonal strips. The mushrooms wouldn't offer any challenge and, well, Thigh-of-Dicks. So Derek grabbed the carrots next after all, carefully cutting them into lengthwise chunks to match the peppers. The carrot he'd broken earlier needed a bit of clean up to make the edges straight, but they were less...problematic, in pieces.

Slicing carrots in lengthwise strips was never his favorite task, because it was finicky and largely unnecessary, but he threw himself into it with a ferver that probably would have made his family eye him warily and ask about clones or pod-people. It worked to distract him, though, which was what he'd needed.

So really, it was Stiles' fault when the front door opened without Derek even hearing a car pull up.

Derek flinched at the unexpected intrusion and the knife slipped, cutting into the base of his thumb, just below the joint. He licked over the cut and sealed his mouth over it as best he could with its awkward placement and rushed over to the sink. 

His hand was healed and the knife clean by the time the sheriff came into his sight line, and Derek was abruptly grateful for the dull knife. If he'd been using one of Peter's, that wouldn't have been a shallow, easily healed cut.

"Uh. Hi." Derek shook the knife dry and attempted to smile at the sheriff. Who was still in uniform, and staring at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might have featured this artist before, but [Xoil](http://inkbutter.com/tattoos-by-xoil) is an amazing artist, if a little hard to track down a link for. Google image searching for **xoil tattoo** will also turn up a lot of fabulousness.
> 
> And in case anyone's curious, yes, your shrieks of torment when I end somewhere like this _is_ music to my ears. Sorry about that.
> 
> I'm still building up my buffer after all the double chapters I posted in December, so I'm sorry I haven't had a chance to do that again yet. I just really want to make sure I can keep updating faithfully and regularly, and not strand anyone without knowledge of when the next update will be. At the current moment though, we are set for about the next severals weeks to post by **early Monday** PST, each week.
> 
> Feel free to ask questions or point out mistakes. (Which are all mine, btw, as the enigmatic roommate really has put in effort above and beyond what's reasonable to expect.)


	19. he was starting to identify as the dinosaur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra chapter? EXTRA CHAPTER! Regular posting will resume on Monday.

In person, the sheriff's scent was more intense. The gun oil was stronger and the spices sharper. There was a sour smelling emotion with traces of carbon and graphite, but Derek had no idea what that was.

When the sheriff turned away, it was to look pointedly upstairs as the shower turned off.

Derek flushed and walked back over to the vegetables to start on the mushrooms.

"So," the sheriff started, still half turned to look up the stairs. "You're dating my son."

He kept his eyes on the counter and his head low, carefully slicing off the end of each stem. Although streamlining the prep process might not be the wisest choice. "Yes."

"He's seventeen. You're..?"

"Twenty three."

Stiles ran across the hall upstairs, swearing under his breath.

The sheriff hummed and nodded. "So in a year, he'll be three quarters your age."

Derek stared down at the knife, just resting against the cutting board halfway through a mushroom. That was a rather...horrible way to think about it.

Upstairs, Stiles' thumping around his room finally became localized and quieter. Derek hoped that meant he was nearly dressed and ready to rescue him.

It was astonishing how quickly he was running out of mushrooms.

"Look, son." The sheriff finally turned his full attention onto Derek. "You don't have to worry about the fact that he's the sheriff's son. You don't have to worry about the law unless you _break_ the law, understood?" He waited until Derek nodded before he continued. "And that _does_ include sexual activity with a minor, by the way. But I'm not going to abuse my position to make your life difficult, or to get revenge if you break his heart."

No more mushrooms. Derek nodded again, keeping his attention on the cutting board. Squash. Squash was his friend.

The sheriff walked over to pat him on the back. "That doesn't mean I won't make your life a living hell if you hurt him, mind. I just won't abuse my position to do it. Okay?"

"Understood sir."

"Call me John," and the sheriff sounded almost friendly as he walked to the fridge. 

He raised his voice as Stiles came thumping down the stairs. "Want anything to drink? I can't believe he put a guest to work in the kitchen."

"He offered!" Stiles skidded into the kitchen and eyed the situation warily. His hair was just long enough that it was spiking a little from the shower, and he'd-- Well, 'dressed up' might be taking it a bit too far, but it was a clean t-shirt and the overlayer was lacking in plaid.

Apparently close enough to 'dressed up' to earn a pointed eyebrow raise from his father, but Stiles didn't react beyond pretending not to notice. Instead, he walked over to stand next to Derek and check on the vegetables.

The new clothes didn't smell of high school or Tinge, so Stiles just smelled of the house, and soap, and Stiles, and _sex_ , because that wasn't a smell that just rinsed off. 

"Dude. What. Do you have, like, magic knife skills or something? It looks like you shaved the carrots."

Derek hunched down into his shoulders, shifting away to keep from leaning in and sniffing. "You said thin slices," he offered as Stiles picked one of them up to boggle at the fact that it drooped to one side.

"Okay, yeah, not complaining." But Stiles was frowning down at the carrots and...

He picked up the last un-sliced chunk of carrot, holding it up at Derek and eyeing his hands. Because, of course, there were some blotchy spots of red that had sunk in and looked suspiciously like blood.

Derek focused on the cutting board. He could smell more blood but none of it was visible, so he said "we had enough carrot, and that piece looked off. I figured it would be best to leave it out." Derek plucked the carrot out of Stiles' hand and started gathering up the rest of the vegetable leavings. "Where should I put these?"

"The trash is under the sink," the sheriff offered, watching with an amused smile from his position against the fridge. "And that offer of a drink is still open."

"Anything's fine." Evidence disposed of, Derek rinsed his hands off again and dried them absentmindedly on his thighs. He probably wouldn't be touching any more food, so it shouldn't matter.

But Stiles was staring at his legs now, and the sheriff was staring at his son, and fuck.

If it would have helped _at all_ , he would have asked if the sheriff had any whiskey. He knew they had it. He could smell where it was, and they'd already covered his age. But it wouldn't do anything. 

Instead, he pulled out one of the smiles he used at work and did his best to ignore the way it made Stiles' eyes narrow. "Can I help by setting the table or something?"

The sheriff wasn't looking at either of them, calmly pulling two glasses down from the cupboards. "I think we can help by getting out of the kitchen. Here."

He handed one of the glasses to Derek, who took it numbly. 

"Dad. Don't you think it'll be a bit _distracting_ for me if I have to worry you're threatening my boyfriend in the living room or something?" 

Boyfriend. Three quarters his age. Sheriff.

Derek inhaled slowly against the building pressure in his chest and turned to the sink to fill the glass with water.

The sheriff was chuckling behind him. "Well, you can stop worrying about that. We've already concluded the threatening portion of the evening."

" _Dad_ , come on."

When Derek turned back, Stiles and the sheriff were having a wordless argument, tied up in eyebrows and mouths and hand gestures. It was familiar enough that the grip around his chest eased up and let him step forward to take away the small frying pan that had appeared in Stiles' hand while he hadn't been looking.

"Hey," Stiles complained as he turned toward Derek, looking confused.

Derek shook the pan at him. "Broad gestures and cookware do not go together." He hesitated a moment, distracted by the sudden wave of rich spices. From the _sheriff_. "This isn't a large enough pan anyway. Why do you have it out?"

Stiles' mouth worked uselessly for a few moments before he settled on frowning at the pan. Then he huffed and snatched it back, bending to open the drawer under the oven again and getting a different pan out.

Technically a skillet. He was _definitely_ spending too much time with Peter.

The sheriff stepped in again, eyes creased in amusement as he settled a hand on Derek's shoulder. "Come on. Living room. We'll talk, and I promise," he emphasized carefully, eyeing his son, "to be on my best behavior. Alright?"

Derek fled to the living room before Stiles could object.

He sat in Stiles' normal spot on the couch, to keep his scent close, and drank half his water in an attempt to settle his nerves. In the kitchen the sink ran again, but if the Stilinskis were arguing, they were doing it silently.

After what felt like forever, the sheriff came out and set his own glass of water on the coffee table between them. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, and cleared his throat.

"It's Derek, right? I didn't exactly give you a chance to introduce yourself." Derek nodded, and the sheriff continued. "So what's making you so jumpy, Derek?"

His head came up and he could feel himself frowning. "Jumpy?"

In the kitchen, Stiles was muttering to himself about overprotective fathers. His scent mingling with raw meat, soy sauce and ginger.

The sheriff grimaced and waved a hand negligently. "Agitated. Unsettled. Worried. Nervous. I mean," he chuckled, "it's perfectly natural to be nervous right now. Up to a point." He narrowed his eyes at Derek, looking so much like Stiles calling him on a moment of bullshit that it was astonishing. It still felt like a threat, though, so he dropped his eyes to the sheriff's hands. "You passed that point a while ago. So I'm giving you a chance to explain yourself, before _I_ start worrying I made the wrong choice when I decided not to see if you had a file, before meeting you."

"It's--" Roiling blacks and reds, mixing but never blending, curled and bubbling at the bottom of a lethal drop. "Guilt," he said, recognizing the visual, the emptiness in his gut. "It's-- I know better, but..."

But it's _Stiles_.

"Not many people would jump to guilt, talking to me." The sheriff sat forward, expression thoughtful. "Not out loud, anyway. _Should_ I have looked you up?"

He was nodding before he'd fully processed the question, but he couldn't make words work. Derek tried to focus on the scent of the ginger, trying to keep his thoughts together. Trying to keep calm.

The sheriff's expression was twisting, flickering in little spasms of reaction that Derek didn't know how to read. It was more subtle than the changes his son went through, but the similarity was undeniable.

...why was the ginger suddenly stronger?

"Oh my god, Dad, I _told you_ ," Stiles sighed, sounding aggrieved, as he thumped his way from the kitchen to the front door, trailing ginger and soy sauce behind him. "Derek's _bad at words_."

"And yet, they're a necessary skill for modern society," the sheriff drawled, breaking his focus to look up at Stiles. "What about the..."

Stiles snorted as he dug through his school bag. "Don't even. Seriously. If I mess up it's _your_ fault." 

It felt like there were about four conversations going on at once, only three of which he could hear and two of which were completely incomprehensible. 

With a short, triumphant laugh, Stiles pulled the sketchpad he used for his art class out. He trotted to the couch and leaned over the back to hand it and a pencil to Derek. It was open already, to a page that had a Stiles self-portrait sitting in the lower left corner, with the spiky-saur curled up in his lap.

Stiles fled the scene again, but not before tossing "Don't think I won't be checking in" over his shoulder.

Derek blinked down at the sketchbook and added a little heart-bubble between the heads in the sketch, rather than looking back up at the sheriff.

Fine, it was sappy and _cute_. Whatever. Accurate portrayal of the moment and Stiles was the one who'd drawn them cuddling in the first place.

And once again, he was so screwed. He was starting to identify as the dinosaur.

"...maybe I should be making sure _you_ know what you're getting into." The sheriff's voice sounded tired but fond, and the scrape of skin suggested he was running a hand over his face. 

Derek smiled and shrugged, keeping his focus on the page.

It wouldn't be any fun if he really knew. But he liked it so far.

"So," the sheriff started again with a bit of forced cheer, "You think it'd help if I looked you up in the system. Which kind of implies there's something there to find. Unless you think that a lack of anything would set me at ease?"

Derek shook his head, but didn't look up from the shapes forming under his pencil. It wasn't anything sensible, just organic lines and shapes forming around the sketch Stiles had left for him.

"I remember an attempted arson. Seven, eight years ago?"

The tip of the pencil stilled and Derek stared down at the page, looking for any traces of fire.

No fire, but the scent of ginger was swelling. Not enough to completely overpower the other scents, but close.

The sheriff cleared his throat, leaning forward further but looking away from Derek now. "I know that it was the Hale property, and that there was a minor involved. But Sharon kept a really strict hand on the details of that one. Is that what I'm looking for?"

Derek managed to duck his head in an abrupt nod and carefully adjusted his grip on the pencil. It was thankfully plastic not wood, and he could feel the material starting to stress under his grip. "I--"

 _I gave a statement_. The words were in his head, but his throat closed tight around them. 

The sheriff's hand landed briefly on his knee, squeezing lightly before pulling away. "I'll find it. Here."

Derek took the remains of his water when it was offered and drank it gratefully, going just slow enough to make sure he wouldn't choke. 

He shot a glance at the other man when the sheriff stood, pushing his own glass firmly in front of Derek. "Even if you won't take a drink, I think _I_ need one."

The subtle tension in the sheriff's face and shoulders had loosened, and Derek felt himself relaxing in turn. He smiled, hoping the expression looked the way he felt: calmer and wry. "Sorry. I got my alcohol tolerance from my mother."

The sheriff's eyebrows shot up even as he started for the kitchen. "Sounds like there's a story there."

"It can be a story for the table," Stiles sniped from the kitchen. "If you can stop harassing Derek long enough to eat, anyway. Dinner's almost ready."

"What is dinner," the sheriff asked as he disappeared around the wall, "aside from a terrifying pile of vegetables?"

A truly terrifying amount of ginger, if Derek's nose was anywhere close to right.

Derek set the sketchbook aside and gathered up the glasses before trailing after the sheriff, uncertain of what he should be doing. If Stiles and his dad had patterns, they were small and enclosed. Derek couldn't see them, let alone figure out how he was supposed to fit into them.

"Stir fry," Stiles said, sounding much too cheerful for a simple announcement. "With turkey for protein and bean sprouts for crunch."

"Mm. Yay," the sheriff deadpanned. Derek came around the corner just in time to see Stiles rolling his eyes.

He cocked his head and glanced between the whiskey bottle in Stiles' hand and where the sheriff was skeptically poking at the stir fry with a spatula. That looked significant, but it probably wasn't an acceptable thing to ask about.

"Yeah, I can tell you're thrilled." Stiles capped the bottle and put it away and out of sight. "Anyway. It's serve yourself, because you're both here and that's just easier. So here." He handed his father the glass and nudged him toward a stack of plates and a bowl of rice were sitting out on the counter.

Derek set the glasses down and stepped up behind Stiles while his father was distracted. It was a bad idea. He knew that. Even through the ginger, Stiles still smelled of sex and so strongly of _Stiles_ that it was heady. 

He wondered if this was what getting drunk was like. Or having a drug addiction. All he knew was that things just felt _easier_ when Stiles was close.

Stiles tensed for a moment, but he relaxed back until he was almost leaning against Derek's chest before he had a chance to pull away. It wasn't an embrace, but it put them close enough that Derek could turn his head and brush his nose against the hair behind Stiles' ear, drinking in his scent. Grin at the way he shivered.

"Is the rice _supposed_ to be crunchy?"

"Uh..." Stiles twitched, then sighed heavily, and Derek pulled away with a soft laugh. "Not really. But I'm sure it'll be fine when you put the sauce over it?"

The sheriff snorted to himself but he had a few scoops of rice on his plate when he turned toward the stove. Derek followed after him when Stiles gave him a light shove.

The rice _was_ crunchy, and the vegetables looked overcooked. He couldn't tell how badly overcooked by smell because now that he wasn't burying himself in Stiles, the scent of ginger was overpowering everything else.

A decent knife set for Stiles and his dad. And for himself, Derek was going to strand Stiles in the kitchen with Peter a few times.

He didn't have any reason to wait until Christmas for that to happen, though.

"So, what was that about your mother's alcohol tolerance?" the sheriff asked, settling into a chair. The wooden chairs didn't retain enough of an impression for Derek to know if they had regular seats, but the sheriff looked too settled into his chair for Derek to even think of him elsewhere at the table. 

"It's a Hale trait." Derek shrugged and snagged his water glass, taking the time to refill it so Stiles would have to sit down before he did. "Most of us don't drink because it's too expensive to get drunk, and we have no reason to develop a taste for it." 

Stiles sat next to his father, finally, and Derek sat next to him, across from the sheriff. The disadvantage of circular tables; you could never escape someone at them. 

Derek kept his eyes down while the sheriff made a thoughtful noise, waiting until he'd had a chance to lift his glass for a drink. "I know my mom drank your predecessor under the table a few times." He fought back a smirk when the sheriff coughed and swallowed carefully. He did his best to look concerned when the sheriff cleared his throat and pinned him with a glare. "I think it was a bonding activity for them, or something." 

"That's pretty impressive," the sheriff agreed, shaking his head.

Neither of them had taken a bite yet. Stiles stabbed a piece of turkey with a pointed look at both of them, but the face he made when he actually put it in his mouth wasn't reassuring.

The sheriff nodded, unsurprised. "Chinese?"

Groaning, Stiles got up and stole Derek's plate as well as his own. "Your fault. And we're _not_ getting anything breaded."

"The beef with broccoli has vegetables," the sheriff called after him, tossing a small smile in Derek's direction.

"Ahunh. And they fry the beef, sooooo...how about no?" Stiles shoved the plates out of the way for the moment and fished a menu out of a drawer. "We're only getting one beef dish, so choose wisely."

The sheriff snatched the menu away from Stiles once he was close enough, then...offered it to Derek.

He shook his head, leaning back. "I don't like a lot of spice. Other than that, I'm really not picky."

Both Stilinskis rolled their eyes at that, but they settled into their rhythm again, hunching over the menu and debating different options with pointed fingers, grimaces and stern looks. They didn't quite forget his presence, they'd occasionally look up to check his reaction to a dish, but they didn't try and draw him in either. 

It let him just watch as they slipped easily into each other's space, then startled out of it and had to re-negotiate. The sheriff's slow, practical movements were at odds with Stiles' alternation between completely still and fast, abrupt gestures. 

They ended up getting the beef with broccoli, having conceded chow mein into steamed rice in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No tattoo links today, but have some awesome things anyway. First up, [Vampisticated](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampisticated/pseuds/YoukeyH) has made some [amazing banners](http://archiveofourown.org/works/667330) to go with the story. 
> 
> Secondly, want to participate in a gift exchange? Have any skill at writing short pieces? (I don't, but I think I'm gonna try anyway.) Want to give a bit more visibility to female and Jewish characters? (Or characters persecuted by evil viziers, natch.) Check out [Purimgifts](http://purimgifts.livejournal.com/79832.html), but do it fast. **Sign ups end tomorrow**.
> 
> Thirdly, um, apparently I have neglected to inform y'all that [I have a tumblr](http://billtheradish.tumblr.com/). Starting today, I'll start updating my tumblr with when Indelible Marks updates, and probably for general fic updates as well. So if you don't have an AO3 account but do have a tumblr, hopefully that'll help. In general, my posting is fairly random and I tend to long lulls of no activity, but hopefully having to update regularly for fic will help with that.


	20. easier with laughter (and edible food)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **An extra chapter was posted on Saturday.** The end notes contained a revelation about my tumblr account, as well as pointing out the new fanart inspired by this fic. Also, you will be missing about half of the Stilinski dinner. 
> 
> So if you didn't see the update, check it out first!

When they had a bit of space, the Stilinskis fit together well. Less immovable object and unstoppable force, more patiently stationary object and unstopp _ing_ force. It wasn't a combination that seemed like it should work, but it did.

But then, Stiles was involved. That was apparently just what happened when Stiles was involved. Or at least, that's the impression he was getting from the sheriff's stories.

"So to explain his point about the French Revolution," the sheriff leaned in, grinning widely as Stiles groaned and let his head thunk down next to the carton of kung pao chicken, "he used the school as an example, with the administration standing in for the nobility. In the process, he apparently got about halfway to accidentally," he closed his eyes and added with fervor, " _I hope_ , convincing his class to join together as a mob and overpower the school administration."

"I hate you," Stiles informed the table. "I hate you _so much_."

Derek was hunched over in his seat, a hand over his mouth and the other gripping his thigh. _Not_ the table, for fear of claws.

"The best part, of course," the sheriff continued with wry, malicious glee, "is that they were studying the American Revolution. Not the French one."

Derek didn't think he'd laughed this hard in years.

\-----

The sheriff was a blues fan, and a sheepish follower of horrible police dramas and crime procedurals. (Derek sympathized. There was nothing quite like the horrible train wreck of watching what people _thought_ you were.) He'd been a baseball player when he was younger, and hated cooked celery enough that he picked it out of anything that touched his plate.

Stiles had played lacross, which he knew from the photos. But--

"I quit last spring." Stiles punctuated his statement with a particularly vicious stab of his fork. That poor unsuspecting broccoli. "I practiced like I was supposed to, and I did my best, and I had the honor of keeping the bench warm. I got to play _once_ , and that was only because half of first line was taken out by pink eye."

"That's--"

_Reasonable_ , he meant to say, baffled by the hard note in Stiles' voice. But the sheriff cut in at the same time. "It's not always about whether or not you play, Stiles. There's a discipline to being part of a team."

Ah. Old family argument.

Derek turned his attention to the steamed vegetables, and patiently worked at picking all the celery out of the carton and onto his own plate while Stiles and his dad rehashed the topic.

"But I wasn't part of a team. I was a _practice dummy_ , and nobody bothered to treat us any differently." Stiles' dad opened his mouth, but Stiles plowed right on ahead. "And I get _plenty_ of discipline and character-building pain in track. Trust me."

"You're on the track team?" From the photos, he would have expected baseball.

That diverted the Stilinskis' attention back to him, and Stiles huffed in annoyance. "You don't need to sound so surprised."

"No, I just," Derek pushed the steamed vegetables toward the sheriff. He'd taken the celery, the least the man could do was clear out some of the baby corn, since he seemed to think that was actually food. "We should go running sometime."

Stiles snorted, rolling his eyes, but his scent curled up into a thick blend of warm spices. "Yeah, maybe. I'm more a short distances kind of guy. So..."

"So we'll have to do some endurance training," Derek added, smirking. Stiles just scowled at him.

The sheriff chuckled, shaking his head and taking advantage of the fact that Derek had moved all the baby corn to the top of the carton. "So how long, exactly, have you two been dating?"

Derek blinked at the abrupt topic change. "Saturday."  
"Thursday," Stiles said at the same time.

The sheriff blinked at them and settled his chin on one hand, gesturing vaguely with the chopsticks in the other for them to continue.

Stiles rolled his eyes and slumped back in his chair. "The date, as in singular date, only one having occured so far, happened on Saturday. But he asked me out when I left his parents' place on Thursday."

Derek couldn't recognize the expression on the sheriff's face, let alone what those traces of pepper and sweet might mean. "The way Stiles was talking, I had the impression this was a slightly more established thing."

Stiles huffed and rolled his eyes, but he was blushing and keeping his face averted. He smelled more strongly of embarrassment now than when the sheriff had been teasing him with stories from his childhood.

"It is," Derek said, enjoying the spike of apple in Stiles' scent when he turned abruptly to stare at him, mouth gaping open. He kept his eyes tilted down, not entirely sure he wanted to face whatever was in Stiles' eyes right then. "I was apparently just too dense to realize it."

"That sounds like you're quoting someone," the sheriff smiled, but his eyes were narrowed and he was looking at his son, not Derek.

"My mother." Derek huffed, moving a hand to cover his eyes. Partly out of embarrassment, partly to add a bit more distance between himself and Stiles' stare. "She says I'm acting worse than my uncles did."

That got a snort from the sheriff as he pushed himself back in his seat. "That _is_ pretty bad." He grinned and nodded when Derek lifted his head abruptly to stare in shock. "I used to get called out to your uncle's nursery all the time, back when he was setting the work placement program up." The sheriff shook his head again, chuckling softly. "That is not a man you expect to see staring off into space with a loopy smile."

Stiles snorted, but his attention hadn't wavered from Derek in the slightest. The sheriff raised his eyebrows, and Derek would have been worried about the looks he'd been giving his son if he didn't seem so much more relaxed. "How long have you two known each other, anyway? I know it's been a while, but..."

That got Stiles' attention, as he straightened up with a faint spike of alarm in his scent. "Uh. A while, yeah. How long _exactly_..?" he trailed off with an uncertain wince. "How would--"

"This is the sixteenth, right?" Derek didn't quite ask, focused on the image unfolding in his mind.

He didn't get an answer, just redirected their attention, but he thought he was right, so--twelve diamonds in a circle, two falling off and breaking. One diamond left orange pieces, the other green, orange forming another circle of twelve diamonds with another four in a cross. He pushed the green fragments away one at a time until..

Another circle. A perfect twelve. "Ten months and twenty eight days."

He focused outward again, to disbelieving stares from both Stilinskis, and he shrugged, curling one corner of his mouth up in a not-quite-apology.

"You have got to be fu--kidding me," Stiles exclaims, not looking away even with the guilty twitch and correction in the middle. "I'm not even-- I mean. We _didn't like each other_ ," he threw his hands up, reeking of exasperation. "How can you remember that?"

"Gregory's birthday was ten months and twenty six days ago," Derek ducked his head with a grin. "And yeah, I didn't like you. You were an obnoxious little punk. But you were definitely _memorable_."

"You..."

"Greg was born on the 20th, two days after you made a nuisance of yourself at the parlor."

"I did _not_ \--"  
"So that makes the day we met November 18th," Derek added smugly. "Ten months and twenty eight days ago."

The sheriff wasn't even trying to hide his laughter. He didn't laugh with his entire body like Stiles did, but curled in around the sound. More like his own father.

"You're impossible," Stiles informed him dourly. He didn't seem to mean it, so Derek just shrugged in response. "No, seriously. Impossible. You are ruining my life, and everyone's going to side with you because you remember the day we met."

"Son, just," the sheriff shook his head, shoulders still hunched with amusement, "give up when you're ahead." Stiles gaped at his father and threw his hands up and out before gesturing pointedly at Derek, making the sheriff raise his eyebrows again. "He's known you for nearly a year and hasn't run screaming in the other direction, yet," he pointed out dryly. "Consider yourself lucky."

Derek choked on air, trying to laugh on an inhale. He bent his head and coughed into his forearm, keeping his fingers curled into the palms just in case. His eyes were watering by the time he looked up to find Stiles and his dad staring at him expectantly. "Ah," Derek cleared his throat and ducked his head, grinning at the table. "My mom said the same thing."

"Didn't know your mother knew Stiles that well," the sheriff remarked, ducking away from a playful swat Stiles aimed at him. 

"Okay, all talking officially sucks," Stiles said, rolling his eyes as he stood and started collecting plates and empty cartons. "Are we kicking my boyfriend out or watching a movie?"

The sheriff eyed Derek with a faint smile. "I'm up for a movie if you are."

"So long as it isn't Lilo and Stitch or Finding Nemo."

"What?" Stiles frowned, looking up to fully share his disbelief. "I thought you _liked_ them."

Derek grinned and ducked his head. "We're talking about movies, not sweet potatoes," he said, just to get a delighted smile out of Stiles. "And that's not the problem. It's-- Gwen wants to be Stitch for Halloween." He lifted his head again, smiling at Stiles' blank expression. "Stacia's going to be Lilo. I have literally lost track of how many times they've insisted we watch those movies."

"Uh. Sorry?" Stiles offered, but he looked too happy for Derek to take the apology seriously. "What about Jacob and Matt?"

"Jacob's going to be an astronaut, unless he changes his mind again. He wanted to be James Bond, but he thinks he'd be mistaken for Cobra Bubbles, since our parents won't let him have a gun. _Or_ a martini." Derek paused while Stiles and his dad laughed, feeling warm and content. It wasn't that much different than being home, anymore. "Matt's going as Batman."

Stiles whooped and thrust one hand into the air in a victory gesture. Thankfully, there wasn't much left in the container he was holding to go anywhere.

The sheriff shook his head, chuckling under his breath. "I'm sure Stiles can help you broaden your viewing options a bit. I swear, I go to more kids' movies these days..."

"It's not my fault they're so awesome now," Stiles rolled his eyes and went back to gathering up empty cartons, but he was blushing.

Derek stood to help gather the rest of the dishes, only for the sheriff to wave him off. "You're a guest. And regardless of how the meal turned out, you already helped. Shoo."

"Yes sir," Derek agreed, wishing he had something to keep his hands busy. "Can I--"

" _John_ , Derek," the sheriff, _John_ , reminded him. "My name's John. And no, you can't. Go find our DVDs or draw or something."

It felt strange, not to be doing anything, but... Well, the cleanup for three went a lot faster than the cleanup for a pack.

So Derek wandered into the living room to sniff out the DVDs.

\-----

Derek pulled a few familiar favorites out of the Stilinskis' collection and left them on the coffee table. It was tempting to sit in Stiles' spot again, soak up his scent, but.

Instead, Derek dropped into the seat right next to it, where there was an old and lingering trace of another male. It was probably just a friend, but they hadn't sat there in a long time and it made Derek feel better, to layer over the scent with his own.

It made him feel even better when he let himself curl up on his side, head and shoulders in Stiles' couch territory and breathing him in.

"You tired already?"

Derek twisted and smiled up at Stiles before pushing himself up. "Not really. Your couch is comfortable."

_Your scent is comforting._

"Yes. Yes it is." Stiles grinned down at him before dropping into his spot, only blushing a little when it left them pressed together all along their sides. He leaned forward to grab the notebook, then diverted to the DVDs. "Oh, man. That's perfect." Stiles twisted around to call back to his dad, as he wandered back into the living room with a glass of water. "We're watching Star Wars."

John nodded, setting his glass down and squinting at them. "Anything you two need _before_ I sit down?"

"I was going to wait until after, actually," Stiles rolled his eyes, squirming further into his seat. "Someone's going to need to put the DVD in, though."

"I can," Derek offered, moving to stand. "I forgot--"

John tried to wave him back down. "I can get it, I'm already up."

The offer made him hesitate, but he shook his head and started toward the door. More specifically, toward his bag. "No. I forgot our sketchbook. And we need more pencils."

"Alright," John said, and it sounded like he'd finally sat down. When Derek turned around, he and Stiles were having another silent conversation that featured heavily in raised eyebrows and rolling eyes.

Derek huffed at Stiles and picked up the Star Wars DVD, shaking it questioningly until Stiles pointed out where the player was hidden and grabbed a remote.

The opening music was just starting to swell when he went to sit down again. Stiles grabbed him by the waistband and tugged, pulling him in to sit a bit closer than he'd meant to. Close enough that Stiles had to wriggle to the side a bit to free the edge of his leg. John cleared his throat and gave his son a pointed look until Stiles lifted both his hands in surrender. 

Derek just smiled and opened up their sketchbook, bracing it across Stiles' left thigh. He handed a pencil over and sank down into his seat. Stiles' arm stayed where it was, stretched out behind him and at the perfect height to support his neck.

Stiles and his dad talked quietly (usually) through the whole movie. Brief exchanges of quotes, a synchronized grumble about Han shooting first, commentary on the believability of the setting, the costumes, the people.

Stiles and Derek talked through the whole movie. Sketches of aliens and Tatooine. Cartoons of jedis, playing around with their robes. More aliens, playing with tattoos that no human would ever be able to pull off.

They made it almost all the way through the movie before Stiles made a Tattoo-ine joke.

\-----

When the credits started rolling, Derek lifted his head to let Stiles reclaim his arm and stretch. "Okay," Stiles started around a yawn. "We don't have any adorable kids to indicate an end to the evening by drooling on Derek, so I'm taking care of that instead."

Derek felt his lips quirking up and almost chuckled when Stiles glared. "Not the drooling part. I think you get enough of that at home."

Stiles stood up and stretched again and John laughed under his breath (and hopefully not paying much attention to Derek, whose eyes were glued to the strip of skin Stiles' stretch exposed). "You're sending Derek off so early?"

There was a brief tightening across Stiles' shoulders, as he exhaled slowly. "Aaaactually, I'm driving him home." He shrugged when his dad turned a pointed eyebrow in his direction, but didn't back down. "Dad, he doesn't have a car. He _runs to work_ , because he's crazy. And it's dark out, now. I'm driving him home."

John's eyes narrowed, but he nodded after a moment. "Alright. But keep in mind that I've got an eye on the clock."

Stiles scoffed and wrapped his hand around Derek's, giving him a gentle tug up off the couch and toward the door. "Yeah, well, just remember he lives out in the middle of the woods. It takes a while."

"Oh, don't worry. I know how long it takes."

John laughed again while Stiles rolled his eyes and grabbed a hoodie. (The red one. Of _course_.) Derek was fairly sure they were both blushing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tattoos! Check out [Steph Hanlon](http://stephhanlon.com/section/205474.html) of [Madame Lazonga's Tattoo](http://www.madamelazongastattoo.com/) and [Peter Aurisch](http://peteraurisch.com/tattoos-2) of I-have-no-idea. I think he's located in Berlin.
> 
> And hey look, I managed to not cliffhanger this time! Go me. You are definitely waiting a full week until the next chapter this time. ;) But I'll keep up posting updates on [tumblr](http://billtheradish.tumblr.com/).


	21. tripping down the rabbit hole

The drive was quiet. Stiles tapped a rhythm against the steering wheel with his thumbs and kept an agitated, roving eye on the mostly empty streets.

Derek reached across the jeep and cupped the back of Stiles' neck, once they had a decent stretch of straight, uninterrupted road. He smiled when Stiles sank back into the touch, his shoulders slumping.

"You don't need to drive me home, you know." He pulled his hand back as Stiles thumped his head back against his headrest and gave Derek an incredulous look. 

"I am not making you _run home in the dark_ , Derek." He turned back to the road, shifting uncomfortably. "Besides, I was hoping for a goodnight kiss and I really didn't want to do that where Dad would be watching. Again."

"Going to walk me to my door too?" It might not be nice to tease, but riling Stiles up had been a hobby long before he'd realized what he really wanted.

The snort from Stiles wasn't the least bit embarrassed or cowed. "Uh. No. My dad would watch, but I think your family would take pictures. Or _video_." Derek smothered a laugh with his fist while Stiles continued, "I was actually figuring on stopping as far away from the house as you were comfortable with walking. Because as Laura proved last time, your family has, like, no boundaries."

Derek doubted Stiles would believe him if he said to just drop him off at the edge of the woods, but it was tempting. 

It would cut at least five minutes off what John should be expecting.

\-----

The house was brightly lit against the evening, but his family had left off the worst of the external lights. It gave them the illusion of privacy under the cover of darkness, even if Derek knew better.

Derek unbuckled his seat belt as soon as they passed the tree line, masking the click with a well known dip in the lane. He held the belt in place and directed Stiles to the first flat spot of grass he knew would hold a car, releasing the belt slowly and quietly while Stiles was distracted.

He was fully unencumbered by the time the engine was off. When Stiles turned toward him, mouth curving around a word, Derek was already there. It was a short kiss, just a peck, and Derek pulled back. Stiles made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat and pushed forward to follow--

\--and stopped abruptly as the seat belt jerked him back.

Derek grinned and ducked his head even as Stiles blew an exasperated breath at him. "You did that on purpose."

"Yup." He hit the button on Stiles' seat belt and tugged it carefully out and around to make sure it didn't hit Stiles as it retracted.

The fact that that maneuver put him back in Stiles' space, his weight braced against the edge of Stiles' seat, was purely incidental.

Stiles huffed again, but his eyes were focused on Derek's mouth and he didn't quite manage to sound irritated. He certainly didn't _smell_ irritated. The scent of Stiles' want filled the jeep so thoroughly that Derek thought he'd probably still be able to smell it weeks later.

There wasn't much room to think about that, because Stiles wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him in for another kiss.

Neither of them were apparently aiming, though, so he wound up kissing Stiles' chin with Stiles laughing against his cheek. Derek swallowed a rumble and moved up, catching Stiles' lower lip between his and inhaling his gasp. 

It was a haze of mingled breath after that. The brush of open mouths, wet slide of a tongue, and breathing each other in until Derek almost couldn't tell them apart. He was lost in their scent, the feel of Stiles' hand in his hair, the press of his thumb behind Derek's ear.

The sting of teeth on his lip made him groan, and he could feel Stiles' smile against his skin. Stiles leaned their heads together, nose by nose and mouths barely separated. "'S kinda funny."

"Hmm?" Derek hummed, not really caring as he pressed in for another kiss.

"We're pretty much parking," Stiles snickered before nipping at his lips again. "In your _yard_."

Derek didn't have the words to understand that, let alone respond. Stiles' teeth moved to his jaw, scraping and pulling a shiver straight out of his spine.The tip of Stiles' nose brushed along the line of his jaw, Stiles' breath hot against his throat, fabric tearing--

\--and Derek was falling forward and to the side, his cheek slamming into Stiles' shoulder before he could brace his other hand against the door.

Stiles yelped and curled around Derek, shock giving way to confused amusement in his smell. "Dude. What the--"

He could feel it, though, and Derek closed his eyes and buried his face against Stiles' neck with a groan. There were shreds of upholstery and foam under his claws. He couldn't ignore the stale, rancid-sweet scent of the padding and he was fairly certain Stiles would smell it as well, once he paid attention. 

Derek flexed the finers of both hands carefully, making sure his claws were gone and discovering scratches on the car door to match the ones on Stiles' seat.

Thank _fuck_ he hadn't grabbed for Stiles, when he'd fallen.

"Hey. Derek. You okay?" Stiles pressed a kiss against his temple, hands carding through Derek's hair and rubbing at his scalp in a way that really wasn't encouraging him to move. Ever.

Derek sighed and pushed himself up, trying on a smile that he was fairly sure was doomed to failure. "Fine. Sorry, I just--"

_Ripped through your seat like a preteen with his first boner_ , was not an appropriate response, however true it was.

But Stiles' heart rate had kicked up again and he was shaking his head with an unsteady, disbelieving laugh, never taking his eyes away from Derek's. "Don't. I mean, not about-- Throw yourself at me whenever. Just not, like, while I'm standing or I'll end up with a broken tailbone. At least."

The moment was dead and eviscerated, but Stiles' pulse wasn't calming and his focus wasn't wavering. At all. "What's--"

"Your eyes are glowing," Stiles blurted out, closing his own eyes. His scent twisted, affection and want and fear tangling in a nauseous contradiction. "It's--they're not just blue. They, uh. They glow? And this," his arm flexed, drawing Derek's eyes down to where Stiles' fingers were curling through the gashes his claws had left in the seat. His hands were _shaking_. "Uh, this...wasn't there before. Which, by the way, you're paying for the repairs, 'cause I sure as hell didn't do it."

It felt like his world was breaking. He didn't have _words_ for this. Couldn't draw it. Couldn't just _think_ what he meant and let Stiles figure it out from the rest of him.

He needed to explain, but he _didn't know how_.

Stiles wasn't helping, flooding the air with fear, stubbornness, affection, nerves, want. How could one person feel so many things at once?

Stiles took a deep breath, opening his eyes and staring determinedly at Derek. "I get that this is maybe a secret, but you're kind of shit at--"

"I'm supposed to tell you," he interrupted. He couldn't stand to listen while Stiles broke his worldview down around him. "I wanted to tell you. I hadn't figured out _how_."

Still hadn't.

"Words are not your thing," Stiles nodded, his body and scent relaxing into something a bit less high strung. Then he gestured to his seat again. "This way kind of sucks, for the record."

Derek winced. "I'll get it fixed."

Stiles nodded, his scent smoothing out. Less fear, less want, settling into a fond sort of curiosity. It was the way he smelled whenever Derek let him look at what he was working on.

"So..." Stiles started, still nodding vaguely. "I'm just-- Your eyes turn blue, and apparently glow. I'm thinking this was your fingers somehow," he said, tapping his fingers against the rips, "because the spacing's right for it and that's where your hand was. You run at least a half marathon every day you work, while carrying those gigantic boots you work in, apparently." He flailed briefly, his hands flying up in exasperation. "And it's not exactly a flat route, even if you're following the road."

Derek blinked and pulled back in surprise, but Stiles just rolled his eyes. "There aren't a lot of places this far back in the woods. It wasn't hard to figure out with a little help from Google Maps. And by the way? You're still crazy." Stiles huffed and turned away, crossing his arms over his chest and...blushing. "Also, I weigh more than a loaf of bread, in case you didn't notice. Which you might not have, with the way you picked me up earlier. And I've never seen carrots go 'off' with red spots before."

"It was blood," Derek admitted, relieved when Stiles stiffened and went sour with worry instead of embarrassment or fear as he eyed Derek's hands again. "Your dad startled me when he came in, and I cut myself." He leaned forward, tugging one of Stiles' hands free gently and bringing it to his left hand, guiding Stiles' fingers to the base of his thumb. "Here."

Stiles' fingers clenched around his hand, pressing into the skin as though he could feel the cut if he just tried harder. "Oooookay."

"Was there anything else?" he couldn't help asking. 

"Uh, noises." Stiles scrunched his nose up, feeling along the bones of Derek's hand now that he'd fully determined that the cut was gone. "You, yeah, but it's your whole family. It might just be a family thing, like, a behavioral quirk? But there's this...rumbling thing that you and one of your uncles do." Which was news to Derek. When the hell had he done that around Stiles? "And I just can't get my throat to do anything like that."

Stiles flushed again and cleared his throat, eyes darting off to one side before coming back to Derek with a stubborn glint. "And, uh, the...sniffing. That's a bit weird to me, but it might be normal and it's kind of hot anyway so whatever," he finished in a rush, the blood rising in his skin and flooding the air again with faint embarrassment and desire. "But I think that's it, unless your family's weird hugging issues are related. So..?" Stiles trailed off, waiting for Derek to take his turn. Fill in the blanks.

The werewolf shaped blanks.

"The hugging is a little related," he started with, trying to sort out words. "It's...scent. Sharing scents, learning about you and making you smell like us."

Stiles' face was sliding slowly into...something. Sometimes, his face was _too_ expressive to read easily. His eyebrows were pinched together and slightly raised, his eyes were squinted as narrow as they could probably get with his brow where it was, and his mouth was slowly sliding open to just...hang there.

And his mouth wasn't a good thing to stare at.

Coughing softly, Derek turned his attention back toward the house, squinting at the windows before extending his hearing. It sounded like Tania, Peter and his dad were putting Matt and the terrors down. Probably because his mother, Laura and Niq were lining the closest window and staring intently at him.

Paul seemed less invested, standing behind Niq with his head tucked down to relay messages to his wife. He looked up and waved, probably because there wasn't any important talking to pass on.

His life. What even.

All the same, he _had_ called it that this would be a spectator event. Damn his family anyway.

"Seriously? Is that it?"

Derek turned back to find Stiles glowering. "No," he blinked. "Just the first thing that occurred to me."

He ducked out of the way of a hand that was probably a swat disguised as a flail, but Derek wasn't sure.

"Okay," Stiles sighed, "I know words aren't your strong suit. So is there anything you can draw or write or sh--" Stiles flinched back, pressing himself into the car door again as Derek held his hand up and showed Stiles his claws. "--oooooh my god."

Derek lowered his hand but didn't let it shift. Instead, he curled them his claws in toward his palm and reached out to bump his hand against Stiles' again. Stiles took the cue and his hand, glancing up at Derek and not relaxing until he nodded.

The astringent metal of Stiles' fear went...really, _really_ poorly with the musk, spice, apple that had already saturated the air around them. He kept spiking with that metallic scent; his breathing shallow, his heart rate jumping and calming and jumping again.

But he wasn't _acting_ afraid, even if his body was, and Derek had no idea what to do with that.

Derek thought he might give anything to make Stiles feel safe, but he had to admit that watching Stiles plow onward regardless of what he was feeling was...interesting. Impressive.

Maybe he'd been wrong about what that scent was?

While he thought, Stiles had coaxed his hand open with light touches and gentle nudges. His fingers ghosted over Derek's, running over the edges of his claws and both sides of his fingers. "No calluses," he muttered, mostly to himself, before taking firm hold of Derek's pinky and testing the tip of the claw.

"Okay," Stiles said, nodding as he slipped his hand into Derek's, lacing their fingers loosely like the claws weren't even there. "So what next?"

There was a disbelieving snort of laughter from the house, but Derek was too busy gaping at Stiles to worry about it. "You..."

Stiles frowned, hand twitching and almost pulling away before Derek could draw his claws away and hold back. He was tense again, though; his arm nearly shaking with how tightly he was holding it. "What? Did I--"

It was a little awkward, with their hands tangled between them, but Derek leaned across the faint space between them. He moved slowly, and smiled when Stiles cut off his words with a sharp inhale that was definitely more want than fear, somehow. 

He gave Stiles plenty of chance to pull away, but wasn't surprised when he pushed forward instead. That was just Stiles.

It was their second kiss all over again, only they were both completely awake and it was Derek who needed to express something. Gratitude, affection, disbelief.

Maybe love.

When they pulled back, Stiles was smiling and relaxed again. He squeezed Derek's hand and shifted in his seat to face him more. "So? What's next?"

Derek laughed, and Stiles scowled at him, pushing a finger into his chest. "Hey, no laughing. I am being _awesome_ about this."

There was a chorus of laughter from the house and Derek smiled, ducking his head for a moment. "You are. You're amazing." He had to say it. _Had to_. Before there was any more of a chance for things to go wrong. Derek took a deep breath and closed his eyes, gently squeezing Stiles' hand before pulling his fingers up and away from skin. "Don't. Run."

Then he shifted.

Derek gave Stiles a moment before opening his eyes again. A moment to tense up and swear. To push himself back with another spike of that horrible, acrid metallic scent. To get his breathing under control. To lean forward. To--

The back of his hand brushed against cotton as Stiles cradled it to his chest. And that was Stiles' breath on his face.

"Dude. That is _so cool_."

He opened his eyes to find Stiles only a few inches away, eyes roving over his face like every minute detail needed intense study. Stiles' heartrate was thrumming like a jackrabbit against his hand, and the metallic scent hadn't faded in the slightest. But he looked _fascinated_ , not frightened, and there were other scents. Apple, richer and more complex even under the harsher metals. And... _happy_ , green and sweet and bright.

"You are so confusing," he said carefully around his fangs. Stiles' eyes dropped to his mouth and he folded his hand further closed over Stiles' automatically. The claws brushed and caught against his skin and Stiles inhaled shallowly, his heart skittering up another notch.

It _felt like fear_ , but Stiles reached for his face, for his _fangs_ , with his free hand. He stopped before getting anywhere close and wet his lips with his tongue. "Can I--"

Derek didn't make any move to stop him. Opened his mouth when Stiles' hand moved in again. 

It was easier to let Stiles draw his lip back than to bare his teeth. The light press of Stiles' thumb against his skin was...anything but threatening. Derek let his eyes drop mostly closed and focused on the scent and the _feel_ of Stiles, so close. 

There was still want past the fear. And...wonder, maybe. Somewhere between curiosity and joy. 

The scrape of skin against his lip was amazing. Stiles moved slowly enough that Derek could feel the ridges of his fingerprint. Then Stiles guided the upper lip up and the rest of his hand just fell into place along Derek's jaw.

Stiles laughed and his hand slid further back, leaving room for Stiles to lean in and rest their foreheads together. "Yeah. That noise."

A bit of gravel made its way into his rumble. Embarrassment, in part, but not enough that he'd bother to try and stop.

"Seriously. You're kind of purring, Derek." And he could hear the grin in Stiles' voice.

"'m not a cat," he growled, and opened his eyes to confirm what his nose was telling him. He growled again and watched Stiles' pupils dilate, felt his breath hitch, smelled the want that was _finally_ starting to overpower the metal again. "We're werewolves."

Stiles brushed their noses together and pulled back with a smirk. "Nope. You're still a spiky-saur."

Derek rolled his eyes and shifted mostly back to human, just leaving his eyes. "Is there--"

The air soured with metal that _tasted_ like terror. Stiles lurched back in his seat, but--

He was trying to take Derek with him. Pulling on their shared hands and reaching across to grab and yank on the back of his shirt. It was awkward and ungraceful and could have dislocated his shoulder with more power behind it, but it did get him facing the right direction.

With the light behind her, his mother was just a silhouette against the house. The only thing visible were her red, red eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For tattoos this week, I'd like to turn your attention to [The Family Affair](http://www.familyaffair.it/) in Italy. Not only are the tattoos awesome, but I just adore their website.
> 
> So, anyway. In this chapter, we had a kissing scene that was a little more involved. I'm really uncomfortable with writing kissing scenes, because I don't really get kissing from a personal level. So feedback on that would be amazing, especially if you feel I messed up somewhere.
> 
> And now I am going to hide before anyone can come after me with pitchforks.


	22. little red

"Calm down," Derek murmured, twisting to try and work himself and Stiles' arms into a less awkward and painful position. "That's my mother."

"Hooooly..." Stiles' heart sounded like it was trying to beat its way out of his chest, but he lost the death grip on Derek's shirt at least.

His mother was finally close enough to open the door and duck her head in. Stiles relaxed a bit more once he could see her face in the faint light of the jeep's overhead might-as-well-be-a-glowstick, and she smiled at him before turning to Derek with an impish smirk, cooing "Protected you."

Derek rolled his eyes and hunched further down in the seat. His family. Impossible.

"Uh. What?" Stiles asked, even as he finally separated their hands and moved his up to Derek's shoulder. Where it was perfectly situated to try and pull Derek away from the threat again, if it was necessary.

His mother's smirk softened and she leaned more of her weight against the door, sagging in as far as was probably comfortable. "I'll explain later. Right now, I just wanted to clear up something." She turned her attention to Stiles, eyes still alpha red. "You're staying here tonight. David's already on the phone with your father with an explanation, so don't worry about that."

"Oookay, hold on." Stiles pushed forward suddenly, leaning over his grip on Derek's shoulder and...keeping his chin tucked. Guarding his throat. "No. I am not staying tonight. You don't get to decide that."

Maria's eyebrows shot up, "I kind of do. We need to explain a few things, and I doubt your father would be happy with you getting home at two."

"Uhuh, still no." Stiles rolled his eyes, and...it was fascinating. His heartrate was elevated, he was breathing shallowly, the terror-scent had dulled back down into the sour metal that Derek was certain meant fear, now. But there were determined pepper notes growing, and the tension coiling in Stiles felt poised to attack, not run and hide. "Why can't we have this talk tomorrow?"

"Oh, we'll talk again. And soon," his mother tilted her head, keeping her own throat guarded with the angle she chose. "But you don't strike me as the type to leave this alone, and I'd rather you not start off with bad information. And," she sighed. "I believe you won't say anything about us, but you need to understand how dangerous it is to do so. What kind of danger you'll be dealing with, if you remain our friend."

Stiles didn't relax at all, but his scowl was thoughtful at least. Maria smiled and tilted her head the other way, "And Derek's working late tomorrow. If we do this tonight, you two can snuggle while we talk."

He hated his family.

Derek tried to sink into the upholstery, taking comfort in the fact that Stiles was slowly turning hoodie-red next to him.

"...okay. Hold on a sec." Then Stiles was shifting away, leaning further over and attacking his glove box. Old receipts and a few maps fell out, and Stiles squirmed further over, and--

Derek sighed and thunked his head back against his seat and stared resolutely upward, _not_ at the wiggling ass that was about ten inches from being across his lap. 

It was a little harder to ignore the hand braced on his thigh.

"Ahah!" The glove compartment closed with a sharp snick, and the hand on his thigh squeezed briefly before being snatched away. "Ah...sorry," Stiles muttered as he wiggled back into his own seat.

When Derek looked down again, his mother's head was ducked until her hair covered her face and her shoulders were twitching in silent laughter. He glared at the top of her head but turned back to Stiles when he heard a sharp rattle.

Stiles had an Altoids tin, his head rocking from side to side as he frowned down at the contents. It smelled like metal, only a trace of harsh mint and the dry, powdery smell that went hand in hand with most medicines.

Before he could ask, Stiles snapped the tin shut. "Okay, spending the night here wouldn't be world ending. But I have school tomorrow, and I need clothes and my bag before that, so..."

"So we'll get you up early," his mother interjected, raising her head to smile again. "Don't worry too much about it for now, we'll talk about the logistics inside." She made a show of checking her naked wrist for the time. "If you two want the illusion of privacy, you can stay out here for about ten more minutes. Then we'll need Stiles inside so he can get caught up on the story and call his father."

"Thanks, Mom," Derek smiled up at her and leaned out, effectively nudging her far enough away that he could get a grip on the door. She jumped back with a laughed 'Rude!' as he swung the door shut.

Stiles snickered and shook his head before frowning thoughtfully at the dashboard and biting his lip. "So it's-- Is it everyone in your family? They're all--? That's why you said that, about the eyes. And why most of them don't act quite right." He blinked rapidly for a moment, his focus flitting back and forth between Derek's eyes, the house, and the dashboard. "Is that why your grandmother looks like she should be your mom? 'Cause really, nobody old in your family looks old _enough_ , except maybe--" Stiles bit that thought off and sucked on his upper lip, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Yeah, no. Does the smelling thing mean your senses are enhanced? Can they hear us from the house? Can you see in the dark? What about--"

He didn't have any food, so Derek covered Stiles' mouth with his hand instead. 

Stiles made a frustrated noise and tried to bite his hand.

"I can't answer your questions if you don't shut up," Derek pointed out.

Stiles rolled his eyes and tried to bite Derek's hand again, tilting his whole head in an attempt to move his mouth away from the curve of Derek's palm. Derek snorted amusement and let Stiles have the edge of his hand to chew on, which made Stiles' eyes go wide and surprised even as he bit down gently with an inquisitive noise.

"We're werewolves." It seemed like a good place to start.

Stiles rolled his eyes again and made a noise Derek could only interpret as _go on_.

Or, more accurately for Stiles, _yeah, and that's freaky but we've covered this and it's no freakier than the eye thing and the claws or, y'know, the insta-makeover thing your face did or your_ mom _, so how about answering the questions I was actually asking?_

"Most of the family is a werewolf, but it's not everybody," he explained. "Vic and Cara are human. So are Dominique, Matt, and Stacia. We don't know about Greg and Erin, yet."

Stiles released his hand and pulled back to free up his mouth. "So that's five out of sixteen?" Stiles frowned as he shifted to lean more against the door and face Derek more. "Technically five out of fourteen, if we don't count the babies. Or, no. Vic and Cara don't live here, right? You said sixteen people live here. So five out of sixteen. Erm, again."

"Six out of seventeen," Derek corrected. "Vic's brother Edward is studying abroad. He's human."

Stiles nodded, eyes distant. "So... Cara's essentially married in, right? And Dominique. But Matt and Stacia were born without the fangy stuff, even though their dads--"

Derek offered Stiles his hand again. Stiles glared at him and grabbed the hand in his own, but once he'd laced their fingers together he moved Derek's hand to a more comfortable position and closed his teeth over the index finger instead.

"Werewolf parents do not necessarily mean werewolf kids. With a human and werewolf, a kid is more likely to match the mother, but even two werewolves will occasionally have a kid who's entirely human." Stiles hummed agreement, so Derek continued. "We don't age more slowly, but it might seem like it. We heal quickly, and don't get sick nearly as easily. And yes, we have enhanced senses. And yes, they can hear us from the house, but it's...it's sort of like knowing there's a radio playing in the background. You can know it's there without knowing what's playing. If they make an effort, they'd be able to understand us. But they'd have to make an effort."

Stiles snorted around Derek's finger and gave him a mocking look. Derek shrugged in response. "Yeah, they're making the effort." He heard his sister laugh sharp and loud, and sighed. "And so am I. Laura's laughing at us, by the way."

Smiling, Stiles bit down lightly before pulling Derek's hand away from his mouth. "That's because Laura is awesome, but has no boundaries."

"I'm going to regret introducing you two..." Derek mused, while his sister's triumphant cackles rang out in the distance. 

Stiles grinned and nodded. "Probably. So...is the mouth thing just normal for you?" Stiles nipped at his finger, in case he'd forgotten what mouth thing Stiles was talking about. As if that was possible. "I mean, for werewolves. It's kinda weird for me, but hey. Working."

Derek shrugged a shoulder and looked away. "I didn't have any food, and you're always putting something in your mouth when you're working through something. I thought it might help you...I don't know, slow down?"

"So not normal, just an us thing." Stiles nodded. "Okay. So, right. The hugging. The frankly excessive hugging, general touching-ness, and overall lack of personal space bubbles. You said that's a scent thing?"

"Mostly," Derek nodded. "It's a scent thing, but it's also. It's--the hugging isn't--" He chuffed annoyance and rolled his eyes, trying to make the shapes and impressions in his head turn into words. "We touch more than humans, but it's not-- Some other packs prefer more space and less touching. So it's not strictly a werewolf thing, it's...a Hale thing?"

He heard Tania say 'a _Hale thing_ ,' in a choked off, hysterical voice before he realized how else that could be interpreted. Right on cue, Laura chimed in to comment on what kind of 'Hale thing' Stiles wanted to get in touch with. Derek blushed and focused intently on Stiles' heartbeat, not wanting to hear what else his family would come up with.

But Stiles was nodding like that made sense. And thank goodness, probably couldn't see how flushed Derek was with how dark it was. 

He raised Derek's hand to his mouth again and gave it a quick, affectionate bite. "I think I can deal with going inside, now. Plus, I'm kind of curious what they told my dad."

And suddenly Stiles had dropped his hand and was out the door.

"Probably car trouble," Derek said, once he had his own door open and had stepped out. "Laura's a mechanic."

Stiles was making his way carefully around the back, one hand skimming over the windows. "Great. Just what I need, more reasons for my dad to hate my jeep."

"At least your boyfriend's sister is a mechanic." Derek grinned and made his way to Stiles. "You can probably get preferential treatment."

He could hear Laura grumbling in the distance, but he really didn't care.

Stiles was squinting suspiciously at the ground, but looked up with a sheepish grin when Derek approached. "I wouldn't object to that."

"Any particular reason you wanted to head in right now? I think we have a few more minutes on Mom's decree."

Derek could _feel_ Stiles' blush. "As much as I love my car, it is _not_ built for, uh, closeness. That beats out pretending like we're alone, especially since I know we're really, really not, now," he rolled his eyes. "Can you help me make it to the house without falling flat on my face?"

Derek snorted and curled an arm around Stiles' waist, biting back a smile when Stiles leaned in against him. "Tall order."

Stiles elbowed him, but Derek didn't care. He wasn't quite ready to head inside yet. Derek leaned in and pressed his nose against the hair in front of Stiles' ear, whispering, "You smell frightened."

Stiles twitched, accidentally elbowing him again in the process. "Wh-- You can _smell that_?" He went entirely still and tense, but it felt like processing, not panic. It was getting hard to tell from his scent; so many strong emotions still lingering in his clothes. "You can smell emotional states," he eventually stated, his voice flat, before whacking Derek's chest with the back of his hand. "You rotten cheater."

He sounded as amused as indignant, so Derek just shrugged. "It's not universal. You need to learn what each person smells like, for anything detailed. But yeah," he agreed, smiling against Stiles' cheek. "I cheated."

Stiles snorted and leaned his weight against Derek, taking a long moment before talking again. "My boyfriend comes with claws and fangs that are really kind of ridiculously sized for his body. So does the rest of his family. His family who decided that kidnapping me for the night was the best plan, and got my father involved before they checked to see if that would be okay with me. That's pretty freaky, Derek."

Derek rumbled and pressed their cheeks together, "You'll have to get Tania and Niq to share their 'coming out' stories," he said, ignoring Tania's indignant yelp in the distance. "They're pretty entertaining."

The laugh Stiles pressed against neck was a relief. "Oh, man. Yeah, good to know I'm not alone here."

"You just _smell_ frightened," Derek tried again, "you aren't acting it. That's what's odd, actually."

The only people who had ever responded this well had been his father and his grandmother, and they both had--extenuating circumstances.

Stiles pulled back and gave Derek a look that spoke _volumes_ about the kind of idiot Derek was being. "Okay, first of all, this kind of _is_ me acting scared, for future reference." Which he emphasized by flicking Derek's nose, making him startle back a little. "Secondly. Werewolves? Seriously. _Werewolves_. That is _so fucking cool_."

Derek snorted and bumped his head against Stiles'. They'd have to talk later, about the cubs and how much they could hear. But for the moment, they were asleep and it didn't matter as much.

They stood like that for a moment, with Derek's nose pressed behind Stiles' ear and Stiles hiding his face in Derek's shoulder, before someone back at the house started tapping insistantly on the glass.

"We should get inside," he sighed. 

"Yeah, well, you're still in charge of that," Stiles muttered into his shoulder. "Get to leading, if you want to go anywhere."

They pulled apart and Derek curled their hands together, walking slowly with Stiles until he'd gained more confidence in their footing and stepped more normally. The tang of his fear was persistant but not overwhelming, and the trust he was willing to put in Derek, even after everything he'd learned, was...

He felt reality shifting again when he realized Stiles' steps didn't significantly speed up once he could see the ground himself.

It made Derek's head fill with dawn colors and creams, uneasy clusters of deliately folding shapes that cupped and layered each other until there was no distinguishable outline. But it was also green lines, curling and twisting around themselves but never quite touching. It was all sinuous curls and ordered chaos of the type that he'd never been able to re-capture on paper. 

Not the kind of art he could share, either of them, but something to hold close and cherish. Something he could describe to Stiles later, maybe.

But, of course, Laura was waiting on the patio.

She grinned at them just before they hit the distance Derek could have lunged at her from, teeth bared but playful. Not that the attitude behind the gesture kept Derek from growling at the implied threat. Stiles twitched at his side, but his grip on Derek's hand got _tighter_ , didn't try to jerk away.

"I'm just _so happy_ we can share the joke, now," Laura started, subtly adjusting her weight so she could jump or run if she needed to.

Derek growled again, more protest than threat this time, but Stiles just squinted suspiciously at his sister. "What joke?"

Laura smirked and pointed at Stiles. "You, Little Red, followed a wolf off the path and wore a red hood."

The expressions that crossed Stiles' face were more a series of spasms than anything. Incomprehension, enlightenment, embarrassment, amusement, hilarity. Derek sighed and adjusted his grip on Stiles' hand to keep him balanced and mostly upright as he nearly curled himself down into the ground with his laughter.

Laura smelled smug as she bounced up and darted inside, doubtless to bask in the amusement of the rest of the family who were nearly as incoherent as Stiles was.

Derek hated them all. Really.

Except Stiles, he thought, as the boy finally straightened up again and leaned heavily against his side, panting for breath around helpless giggles.

"Oh, man. I'm a stereotype without even _trying_."

"Yeah," he said fondly. "Yeah you really are."

\-----

By the time Stiles was steady enough to head inside, the family was mostly recovered. Mostly. The cascade effect of one person sending another into a new fit of laughter had mostly calmed down, at least. 

The noise had woken Gwen, though. Tania passed them as they took off their shoes, biting her lip around a smile and taking the first flight of stairs in three short jumps.

Stiles' mouth fell open a bit as he watched her. "Did she just-- With a _baby_?"

"Tania wouldn't drop Greg." Derek rolled his eyes, reaching over to tug on Stiles' hood until he unzipped the jacket and let Derek help pull it off.

"But she just. Is that normal?"

Derek snorted and nudged Stiles toward the main room. "If we're in a hurry, we usually just bypass the stairs entirely. Tania was trying to be quiet so she wouldn't wake another kid up."

"Another?" Stiles frowned thoughtfully at him, then jumped when Peter said "The laughter woke Gwen up."

Stiles twisted around to glower at Peter, who smirked innocently from...one end of the larger couch. A couch that had a conpicuous gap in the middle. Between Peter and Laura.

The only other spot left open was the armchair that Tania usually claimed. And no.

Stiles started to take a step forward but stopped when Derek pressed up against his back and hooked his chin over Stiles' shoulder. His weight was a warm comfort against Derek's chest as he glowered pointedly at Niq and Paul.

The loveseat wasn't anywhere near as comfortable as the couch, but he _was not_ sitting between Laura and Peter for this. He didn't trust them even when they _weren't_ obviously up to something.

Tania returned, rolling her eyes at the stand off before reclaiming her armchair. "I left Greg with Stacia and moved Jacob to Gwen's room. They were too agitated to sleep without company."

"Alright. We'll have to hope she's okay in the morning," his mother sighed, rubbing her cheek against his dad's shoulder. "Can we stop with the western showdown now?"

Dominique chuffed amusement and Paul hid a grin against her hair before they stood up and moved to the couch; Paul dropping next to Laura and affectionately butting their heads together and Niq curling up in a tiny ball of smug around Erin, between her mate and her evil soul-twin.

Derek nodded his thanks and pulled Stiles toward the only seat that now didn't have any extra family he'd have to share Stiles with, while Stiles snickered.

And of course, the entire affair just set his parents off again, which set off Tania, which set off Peter, and soon everyone else in the room was laughing helplessly. Again. Derek sighed and flopped down, tugging Stiles after him and onto his lap. Stiles flailed with a muffled protest as Derek stretched out with his knees hooked over the far end.

"Oh, Gods, SHHH. The _kids_!" Tania protested, covering her mouth with both hands as though that would help keep the giggles in.

Stiles sighed and went lax abruptly, letting his head thunk back against Derek's shoulder and kicking one of Derek's feet with his own. "This is so not normal. You know that, right?"

Derek snorted and nuzzled Stiles' hair. He smelled of embarrassment, but also happy and want. So.

Screw normal. If Derek had to deal with his ridiculous family and their ridiculous sense of humor, he was getting as much touching as supernaturally possible, damnit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a very special tattoo artist to share this week. [Alexis Witt of Two Birds Tattoo](http://twobirdstattoo.com/artists/alexis). Alexis is special because while she hasn't worked on me, she has done work for a friend and, quite recently, my parents! This last Saturday, my parents had their wedding bands tattooed onto their fingers so they can have a visual representation of their marriage, even though they both have problems that make wearing their actual rings problematic.
> 
> This does mean, however, that Alexis is the first artist I can recommend from personal life experiences, even if she isn't exactly local to me. =)
> 
>  
> 
> Also, last week some people expressed concern or confusion over why Maria was going all alpha-eyes on Derek and Stiles. The simplest and broadest explanation for that, if you're still confused or concerned, is that the entire family likes to troll each other. Or more simply, Maria's sometimes just a bit of a shit, and she thought it would be funny.


	23. too creepy for Hallmark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted another short piece to Kitchen Sink on Saturday. This time, it's [Peter and Tania](http://archiveofourown.org/works/569745/chapters/1282429) meeting for the first time.

"So, werewolves?" Stiles offered when the room quieted down again, still a bit flushed and embarrassed by the degree of cuddling Derek had instigated. "What the hell?"

But Derek's mother was already shaking her head from the other couch (the one that wasn't entirely made up of of evil grins, Paul and Erin), a hand cupped over her mouth to keep the laughter inside. "No. No. We'll start laughing again." Clearing her throat, Maria raised her head and attempted to look dignified. His father snorted in renewed amusement without even lifting his face from where it was buried in her shoulder. She bit his head in retaliation, and Stiles convulsed in a quickly stifled laugh at the gesture.

" _As I was saying_ ," his mother tried, starting again. "We should start by making sure we're all on the same page, with what we're telling Stiles' father."

"His car just wouldn't start again," Laura offered from where she'd curled up into Paul's side. "They parked out away from the house because, let's face it, if his dad _isn't_ expecting that they'd want to sneak a few kisses in, he's delusional."

Stiles covered his eyes with a hand, but that didn't do anything to hide the flush spreading over his face. "He pretty much said he'd be timing my progress."

Laura just nodded, accepting the underlying implication easily. "Exactly. So you got here, necked a bit." And there was an impish smile and exaggerated eyebrow waggling. "Which...you totally did anyway, so the timing isn't even that far off. Then Derek got out, Stiles tried to start his jeep, and nada. No go. So Derek came in and hauled me out to take a look at it, and I griped about the lack of light or long enough extension cords. And our dad decided to be all _sensible_ about it and called your dad to let him know what was up while we were doing that. And now, I've said I can't figure out the problem until morning, when I'll have some light to work with."

Their mother nodded and glanced at Stiles to make sure he didn't have any objections. "Worst comes to worst, if your car can't be 'fixed' tomorrow, one of us can give you a ride home for your bag and then to school. And your car might as well be stranded where there's a mechanic willing to poke at it for free anyway." She shrugged, looking amused. "Obviously, none of that's actually an issue unless your car really _doesn't_ start tomorrow, but if your dad needs to hear it or you want an excuse to come straight here after school, it's all as true as it can be."

"Am I going to have to do this a lot?" Stiles cut in. "Lie to my dad, I mean."

Some of the red came back to his mother's eyes as she watched them for a moment. "It depends. I want him to meet the family first. Get to know us more personally. I think it'd be in our best interests if he knew, but," she shrugged again, "better safe than sorry."

"We wanted to tell Sharon," his dad cut in. "She was very helpful to us, before she retired. I think she suspected something, but--"

"She did," Olivia snorted. "I warned you two off getting her involved because she asked me to keep her out of it."

His mother frowned and shoved her feet further under her mother's thighs. "You never told me that... Why didn't she--?"

"Hey, this is fascinating," Stiles interjected. "But maybe I should call my dad, while you hash that out?"

His mother huffed at being interrupted, then again when his dad shifted out from where she was leaning on him. His dad smiled down at her, where she flopped over with her head resting crookedly against the arm of the couch. "I'll help with that."

"I am not being unreasonable," his mother objected, but it was hard to take her seriously when her head was half crammed under a cushion.

Stiles moved to follow his dad out of the room, and Derek tightened his grip slightly, letting Stiles yelp and flail as he rolled partly off of Derek and...hung there.

"Hah hah. Can I go use the phone, now?" Stiles tried to twist around to glower at Derek, but his position was lousy for it. "And don't think I'm not going to remember this. There _will_ be revenge."

Snorting, Derek adjusted his grip to let Stiles get his feet on the ground and straighten up and away. "Do you want me to--?"

"Nah," Stiles waved him off and headed out of the room. "You seem pretty comfy."

"Comfy to lie on too, apparently," Laura added with a speculative glance his way.

Derek didn't have a chance to growl at her before Stiles was calling back, "Finders keepers! I found it, I'm keeping it!"

That probably wouldn't have worked if Paul hadn't pulled Laura closer, hooking his chin over her head and rumbling until her eyes started drifting closed.

They weren't cats. That didn't mean they hadn't learned any lessons from them.

There was a muffled ring, a click, and Stiles was saying "Hey, Dad. So yeah, about that timing thing..."

Derek's mother pushed at Grandmother Hale's leg. "Why didn't Sharon just talk to me about that?"

"She didn't know you were the alpha," Olivia said calmly. "She didn't know there _was_ an alpha to go to. Going to the oldest member of the family probably seemed safest."

Derek pushed his attention away from their conversation. Discussions about the old sheriff didn't affect him. Discussions with the current sheriff did, and _he_ was currently sighing over the phone. 

"You realize the timing is incredibly suspect, right?" John's voice was dry but resigned.

"Yeah, well. Welcome to my life," Stiles huffed. "So. Good news or bad news, first?"

"What's the bad news?"

"The jeep's still not starting, and we can't get enough light out there for Laura to really look at it, and it's kind of stuck here for tonight." John groaned, but Stiles plowed on ahead. "The good news is that Laura's going to look at it for me in the morning, and the Hales have offered to let me stay the night to avoid all the tedious back and forthing. I--"

There was a burst of static that was probably John sighing directly into the receiver. "I can come out and get you. Do you have--"

"I have enough meds for tomorrow," Stiles protested. It sounded like he was rolling his eyes. Derek would know. "They offered to give me a ride home then to school, if I need it. And my guest room will be far away from Derek's with many light sleepers in between, okay?"

Peter barked a short laugh before smirking toward Niq and Paul. "Odds they're both blushing and avoiding eye contact, even though they can't see each other?"

"Ten'll get you one," Paul muttered, making Laura snort into his shoulder, before going back to repeating what Stiles and his dad were saying for Dominique.

"...it helps." John finally said, reluctantly. "I _can_ come get you. Are you sure--"

"Dad, if Laura _can_ get my baby up and running in the morning, I'd like to be here for that. And I'm not imposing. Kind of the opposite, really. You should be on your toes," Stiles warned, voice turning joking. "I think they want to keep me."

The sheriff hummed thoughtfully. "Maybe they'd buy you off me." He paused to chuckle before continuing over his son's offended spluttering. "I'd rather have you home, but if you're not imposing..."

Derek's dad came back, a smile just barely creasing his face. Maria flipped him off when he stared down at her expectantly, and he chuffed at her before pulling her up enough that he could reclaim his seat.

"I'm really not."

"Alright then. Call me in the morning, okay?"

"Thanks, Dad." Stiles took a quick breath and cleared his throat. "Ah, I was also thinking that maybe it'd be good to meet the rest of the Hales? I mean, I know you probably know most of them, 'cause you're freaky like that, but. You know."

There was a groan over the phone and a rubbing noise. "I've just gotten used to the idea of you _dating_ , and you've both already done the meet the family thing. Do we really need to--"

"They have babies," Stiles blurted out. "Two of them. Less than a year old." There was a long pause before Stiles continued on, sounding smug. "And four kids under ten. They're kind of ridiculously adorable. Like, all of them. And normally, I only have you but I kind of feel like I have them now too? And they're awesome, and you need more awesome in your life."

John snorted and that was _definitely_ the sound of his hand hitting his face. "You're brutal. Fine. You can--" He kept talking, but it was mostly drowned out by Stiles' triumphant crowing. "--know when. Okay?"

"Got it. Love you, Dad."

"Love you too, kid."

There was a click, then a--skip? Shuffle? Shuffle-skip? Derek had no idea, but it sounded like hopping was involved. Stiles' mouth was already starting to open as he stepped back in, but shut it with a click and gave the room a suspicious once over. "I don't need to go over what was said, do I."

Niq flashed him a grin. "Paul filled me in as you were talking."

"Okay. Creep-pers." Stiles rolled his eyes but he was smiling. He walked back over to the loveseat but stopped and stood awkwardly just out of reach. Derek grumbled and stretched an arm out, tugging Stiles in and gently maneuvering him back into place once Stiles took his hand.

Stiles yelped and blushed and his family started snickering, but Derek didn't really care. He pressed his nose against Stiles' neck to take in the happy-embarrassed-want-pack- _Stiles_ with a happy rumble he was sure Stiles could _feel_ , not just hear.

Stiles was pack now. He could do that.

Niq snorted, and Derek lifted his head to see her smirking in his direction. "You would totally leave a deer on his patio, wouldn't you."

Paul slumped in his seat and grumbled.

"A deer?" Stiles yelped. "You're...not kidding. Holy--" He abruptly straightened up a bit and twisted around to pin Derek with a glare. "No dead animals. Dead animals require prior consent."

That sent them off again, in desperate smothered giggles as they tried to avoid waking the kids up. Paul wasn't laughing, sighing in resignation and staring pointedly at the wall, even as he rubbed his mate's back to soothe her through the hiccups that came with this round of hysteria. His parents were curled together, his mother hiding her face in his father's torso and occasionally pausing to gasp for breath.

Stiles rolled his eyes then looked expectant at Derek, eyebrows raised.

"No dead animals without prior consent," Derek agreed, trying not to smirk too obviously. Paul growled softly in his direction anyway.

"Thank you." Stiles relaxed back down against him, wiggling a bit to get comfortable and making a smug noise when Derek grabbed his hips to keep them still. "So. Okay. What else do I really, really need to know? Weird freaky courtship details like dead animals counts as something I really, really need to know, by the way."

"Werewolf hunters," his father offered, which sucked all the humor right out of the room.

Stiles flailed a bit, almost sitting up and his mouth gaping as he tried to form words. Derek laced their right hands together, tugging up and letting Stiles finish the movement. Stiles slumped back against him again, raising their hands until he had Derek's index finger clenched lightly in his teeth.

Derek made the executive decision to not think too strongly about how much he was enjoying that.

David waited until Stiles was still and quiet again (and his eyebrows at how they'd arranged that were only slightly mocking) before continuing. "We have a truce with one of the oldest families of hunters. They abide by a code that means we're safe so long as we don't harm any humans. But not all hunters follow that code, or care about the truce. If you're a friend of ours, it's possible they might target you."

"It is possible," his grandmother added, nodding faintly. "You don't live close enough for us to protect directly, and that makes you more of a target. But between your father's position and the fact that you're human?" She waved the concern off.

"You weren't this reassuring to me," his father said, smiling to bare his teeth at Olivia over his wife's head.

Stiles chewed absentmindedly on Derek's hand, letting himself relax and slump down into him while he listened and watched. 

Making himself small, Derek realized. Small and still and out of sight.

Oblivious to or ignoring their guest, Olivia shrugged one shoulder at her son-in-law. "You were in more danger."

"No hunters _lived here_ , then," David growled. Tension pooled in Stiles' shoulders at the noise and his teeth went still, barely indenting the skin but still holding on. "Nobody even knew about this pack."

"And now everyone knows," Derek's mother said, with a note of finality. "The hunters, the major established packs, probably most of the mystics. That's the whole point of the truce and the work we do, now. No hunter can attack us now without starting a war."

Stiles' teeth scraped over Derek's skin as he pulled their hands away, shifting up and forward enough that Derek moved their hands to brace him against falling off. "So, just to make sure I understand this right. You guys are worried about being attacked, or having people close to you attacked, by humans who would presumably be doing very illegal things with, like, _no_ provocation they'd be able to explain without sounding completely insane?"

Derek's mother snorted, nodding. "Yeah. Like I said. It would be _good_ for us if your dad knew."

"Uh, yeah. _Understatement_." Stiles rolled back down but he didn't really relax this time. His grip on Derek's hand was tight and there was something bitter and damp working its way into his scent.

"Well, that topic's destroyed everything pleasant and good," Peter interjected before his sister could respond. "I vote we move on to nudity."

Stiles choked and turned red. Again. " _What_?"

Tania covered her face with one hand and growled under her breath. But for Peter, that was practically applause.

Derek was fairly sure everybody remembered the first time Tania had come to the house, after learning about werewolves. His mother and grandmother had been chasing him, his father, and both of his sisters out of the woods and back to the house, without a stitch of clothing between them.

It had gotten _loud_ after that.

"What my uncle means," Derek broke in, before they could get distracted from the point. "Is that most of us grew up with clothes being...optional."

"Optional my ass," Olivia snorted. "Nudity is _so_ much better than dressed, especially when it comes to cubs. You would not _believe_ the amount of clothes you go through otherwise. And teenagers!" She rolled her eyes dramatically before poking Maria's leg, eliciting a sullen growl. "Not only do their brains get scrambled by their own hormones, they end up wearing everyone else's."

"Which is why it's so funny that Derek likes smelling like you so much," Laura butted in finally, smirking at Stiles. "Because you totally smell like high school."

Stiles grimaced extravagantly. "I think I'd have preferred to not know that, actually."

"I don't even notice it anymore," Derek admitted, pushing his nose into the crook of Stiles' neck again. "I just smell you."

"Okay, yeah, that's too creepy for Hallmark." It sounded like Stiles was rolling his eyes, but he shifted his head to give Derek more access anyway.

"In the interests of other things Stiles needs to know," Tania started, sounding resigned. "Gwen."

Peter reached across the space between their seats to take Tania's hand. "Gwen," he sighed, "has some...behavioral problems."

"She has fits," Tania corrected. "Goes nearly feral, and we don't know why. It's why we're still home schooling her."

Stiles nodded slowly. "Okay, yeah, that's a problem. And...you know she's a werewolf, so she has all the..." He gestured vaguely with his left hand then made something that might have been construed as a clawing gesture.

"Yeah," Derek confirmed, pressing his nose more firmly against Stiles' scalp. "Tiny, fanged, and mostly out of control."

"That... sounds terrifying, actually." Stiles twisted until he could frown over his shoulder at Derek. "Is that why you acted so weird when I told you Jacob bit me?"

"Jacob _bit you_?" His mother shot upright, only kept in her seat by her mother's hand on her legs and her husband's grip around her waist.

Stiles held his hand up in a placating gesture. "Woah. Okay. Yeah, but it was mostly my hoodie, and it was a perfectly normal six year old bite."

Grandmother Hale nodded and patted her daughter's leg. "And Stiles handled it perfectly."

" _You_ need to talk to me more often," his mother sulked, pushing at Olivia's thigh with one of her feet again.

"Yeeeah, okay." Stiles sighed, gesturing broadly with his free hand. "Gwen? Fits?"

"You'll know if it's happening," Dominique offered. "It's not subtle, and it takes a while to get dangerous, so you'll have warning. The important thing is to stay still and try to keep calm."

Peter nodded. "If you run or seem panicked, she might perceive you as prey. We haven't had any problems with that yet, but." He shrugged.

"But everyone in the family has had years to learn how to deal with an out of control werewolf," Dominique interjected wryly. "Cara and I are the only ones who didn't _grow up_ with it."

Tania snorted, covering her face with one hand. "My complete failure as a werewolf really came in handy, in that respect." 

Peter huffed annoyance and tugged on her arm. Tania pulled back with a playful growl and in seconds they were engaged in a tug-of-war that had pulled her armchair snug against his couch.

"Children. Really." Grandmother Hale snorted at them, her eyebrows arched in judgmental amusement.

Peter, being Peter, stuck his tongue out at her.

"Oh my god," Stiles cut in, rolling his eyes. "You guys have _no idea_ how weird it is that I'm the one saying this. Can we _focus_ , please?"

Derek snorted against Stiles' neck. "Mom, is there anything else we really need to cover, tonight? Stiles has to get up pretty early."

"Oh right," his mother sighed, rolling her eyes. "School." She moved to sit up like a normal adult, with her feet on the floor and everything, then narrowed her eyes at them. "Werewolves _can_ do casual sex. Just ask Peter," she talked right over Peter's yelp of objection. "But anything beyond that tends to be serious. Even bitten werewolves will often focus obsessively on one person, and take a _long_ time to recover if it doesn't work out."

Stiles nodded, but he sounded wary. "So, you're basically an entire family of my best friend. Good to know. But--" He tensed abruptly, sitting up a little and making Derek grunt when Stiles' weight moved entirely to his abdomen. "Wait. Are you giving me the 'hurt him and we'll hurt you' speech?"

Considering he was talking to an alpha werewolf, Stiles sounded far too delighted at the prospect of being threatened.

"Not exactly," his mother pursed her lips, sounding a bit put out. "Though that is part of it. I just want you to be aware that if Derek is involved in this? He's comitted." She shrugged. "And yeah, if you lead him on or betray him, I'll probably rip out your liver."

"That's _awesome_."

Derek groaned and pulled Stiles back down so he could bury his face in Stiles' neck again. His family was impossible. His boyfriend was almost worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For tattoo artists this week, please meet [Tina Bafaro](http://www.bafaro.com/), operating out of Pioneer Square in Seattle. I really love her use of color, and the way some of her designs integrate stark black with color pieces. (But if you want to know my favorite piece of hers? It's the only full black design I saw on her portfolio. Number 15, if the numbering doesn't randomize.)


	24. nighttime adventures (no, not that kind)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness. How is this story this long? How is it y'all are still reading? I don't even.
> 
> Stiles' size in relation to Derek is vaguely mentioned in this chapter. If this is a subject you have strong feels about, please just trust me for a week. You can complain all you like on the 11th.
> 
> **Trigger Warning:** In this chapter, there is an instance of playful smothering. Further explanation in end notes.

"See if you can find some things for him to wear."

Derek huffed irritation as his mother pushed him toward his room, glaring back at where his sister was herding Stiles up to the third floor. She wasn't having much luck in hurrying him along until Derek caught his eye with a smile.

"Oh, don't be a baby," his mother scoffed, but she smelled fond and amused. "It's not like you won't know exactly where he is. And you can go up to see him again when you bring him something to sleep in."

"Why do you think I have anything that'd fit him?"

Not that the thought of Stiles in his clothes wasn't appealing. His clothes, his scent--

His mother flicked him in the forehead, making him jump and ripping his attention back. "Because you never get rid of _anything_ if you can help it. And it's not like you're that much bigger than he is."

He huffed again and glared, but went for the storage bins under his bed. They weren't _that_ close in size. Stuff from college was probably his best bet. It was possible that he'd been shorter than Stiles then, but width wise they'd have been close.

And really, why stop at clothes to _sleep_ in?

He followed his mother's footsteps with his ears, as she headed back downstairs. Listened as Laura gave Stiles the tour of upstairs, explained the weird plumbing in the bathroom, guided him into a room and--

"Wait, no. Not this one."

Stiles' feet stumbled back a few steps and his voice was muffled when he said "Wha-- Why?"

"You'd be _right over_ Jacob and Stacia."

"What. My pulse is going to wake them up?"

"Uh..."

"... _seriously_?"

"Well, Jacob might. It's just-- He and Gwen don't know you that well. And yeah, they could hear your heartbeat. It's a stranger in the den sort of thing."

" _Oh my god_ ," Stiles whispered, and it sounded like he'd thunked his head (or a hand, maybe) against Laura's shoulder.

Derek ducked his head and snorted, sorting through his pile. "Jacob's in Gwen's room anyway, Laura. Remember?"

Upstairs, Laura swore and started pushing Stiles back toward the original room.

"Oh my God," Stiles hissed. "Make up your mind!"

The grey dress shirt, and a dark red one he just never wore. Stiles liked layers, so it was alright if they were a bit big. A few t-shirts from his first year, mostly plain but there were a couple of band shirts from groups that never made more than underground fame.

"Hey, wait. Between the dinner and this mess, did you even have time to do any homework?"

There was a pause that Derek was fairly sure translated to Stiles rolling his eyes. "It's okay. I'm a few days ahead on everything but my English reading, and I can catch up on that during lunch."

"Somebody's the teacher's pet," Laura teased.

Stiles snorted. "Yeah, _no_. Just...had some good reasons to apply myself."

One of his exercise shirts would do for a sleep shirt, and a pair of flannel pants worn into softness. They'd be too big, but they had a drawstring.

Upstairs, it sounded like Laura had thrown Stiles onto a bed. At the least, he'd hit the mattress with a surprised huff and then thrown something soft at Laura. 

"Oh my god," he hissed, trying to keep his voice down. "Weren't you just implying my _pulse_ would wake the kids up?"

Laura snickered and...threw back whatever Stiles had thrown at her. With a bit more force, from the sound of it.

Sighing, Derek flopped on his bed and covered his head with his pillow. He trusted Laura not to hurt Stiles, but she was acting like a _cub_.

And if he happened to be lying on the clothes he was offering Stiles, that was nobody's business but his.

\-----

Laura had Stiles face down in the blankets, pinned at his shoulderblades, and was grinning down at his flailing by the time Derek stopped hiding in his head and made it up to the guest room. "Say aunt."

Derek paused and leaned against the doorway to watch the show.

Stiles' flailing stilled for a moment so he could gesture his exasperation before thrashing to turn his head enough to talk. "Isn't it supposed to be uncle?"

"I'm a girl. Don't care," Laura sang. "Now say aunt!"

"Uh, no?" Stiles shook his head, rubbing his face against the covers. "That'd be weird."

Laura frowned down at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Wouldn't that mean I was dating Derek's _kid_?"

Laura froze up at that, her face twisting up into a pained grimace. Stiles used the distraction, squirming out of her grip and managing to tip her over in a squawking mess along the way. "I win!" His raised his hands in victory and turned toward the door, beaming when he saw Derek there. "You saw that, right? I totally won."

"What were you even _doing_?" Derek asked, shaking his head in bewilderment.

He cared a lot less about what they were doing. A lot more about Stiles, happy and flushed and triumphant, and wanting to share it with him.

"I bet him he couldn't get free if I got him pinned," Laura sulked from her dead-cockroach sprawl across the mattress. "He said I'd have to pin him first. He only _half_ won."

Stiles snorted, puffing up in pride. "Nuh-uh. Werewolf, human? That was a foregone conclusion. I totally outsmarted you."

"I hate you so much right now," Laura declared, covering her ears. Probably to try and block out the fact that the rest of the family was laughing at her from all over the house.

"Yeah, well. You still owe me a ride to school in the morning." Stiles shrugged and poked Laura in the forehead. "And a feasible explanation for why my car stayed broken."

She'd have done that anyway, but there was no need to point that out. "You're coming back tomorrow, then?"

Stiles nodded, and Derek...wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that. _He_ wouldn't be around, so Stiles would be left alone. With his _family_.

That smelled like a disaster of embarrassment just waiting to happen.

"Yeah. I figure we can cover more ground if it's, y'know, less than the whole family?" Stiles grimaced. "Or all the adults, at least. Your dad suggested it. He said it should just be him, your mom, Olivia and Peter, tomorrow. And Gwen, so someone would be watching her, and..."

Derek held a hand up. "I get it." He walked over, dropping the clothes balanced in his other hand over Laura's face. She flipped him off, and he knew that meant she knew he loved him. "You might be able to wear some of these. They're too small for me."

"Hopefully not too _short_ ," Stiles snorted, pulling the clothes off Laura's head and sorting them into piles. "Thanks. It'd be nice to just need to grab my bag and go, in the morning."

Laura smirked, linking her hands behind her head. "Yeah, that's real nice of Derek," she drawled. "I'm sure it doesn't have anything to do with making you smell more like him."

Derek grabbed a pillow to drop on her head, since Stiles had already claimed the clothes. For his part, Stiles just coughed and blushed, but he was smiling. "Uhuh. Well, thanks _anyway_ okay?"

"But now get out, so you can sleep?" Laura offered, muffled but audible through the pillow. "Better get your smooching in. 'Cause I'm not leaving you two alone in here."

" _Oh my god_ ," Stiles went bright red and sour-wood, twisting around to press the pillow down against Laura's face briefly, making her flail and laugh. "Could you just. No," he declared, lifting the pillow to glare down at her. "Both of you out."

Derek snickered and grabbed hold of Laura's shirt, pulling her off the bed when she protested. 

She found her feet almost immediately. And her voice. "What? My face was covered and everything! It was perfect!" Derek closed the door behind them, ignoring her pout. "Why couldn't your boyfriend be an exhibitionist?"

"Oh My God, Laura. _No_ ," Stiles nearly growled through the door. "Not my kink! I am _never_ having sex in this house."

Well, that was one human who figured out pretty quickly that werewolf hearing didn't turn off out of modesty. He was pretty sure Dominique was still intentionally blocking those thoughts out.

Laura pouted all the way back down to her room. "Your boyfriend's no fun at all."

Derek just shrugged. It wasn't like he wanted to share.

\-----

No matter how friendly they were, it was hard to adjust to someone new in the territory.

Somewhere upstairs, Tania growled softly and, from the sound of it, kicked Peter. Dominique had moved to a guest room after just a couple of minutes of Paul's twitching. Derek was fairly certain his parents were still having a silent argument downstairs over which of them would get to take the first patrol of the night.

Hardly anyone's pulse was where it should be. Even Laura was grumbling about not living in dorms anymore, and she could generally sleep through anything.

Derek's last coherent thought, before drifting off to the sound of Stiles' breathing, was that he probably wouldn't be able to sleep at--

 

 

"-ope!"

Derek jerked awake, rolling up into a crouch before he'd even processed the fact that awake meant 'had been asleep'.

No attack. Nothing in his room. Laura--

"No, no, no, no..." Laura sang, quietly but persistantly. Under her chanting was the sound of cotton slithering against itself as she-- 

Pulled herself up off the floor? What was--

Upstairs, Stiles hummed loud enough to be heard over Laura's litany. Derek focused on that. Heard Stiles gasp his name.

Froze.

That was--

Stiles was--

"Derek," Laura hissed, keeping her voice down. "I am sleeping with your boyfriend. _By myself_ if you don't get up _right this instant_."

"...mmm...your--"  
"No!" Laura nearly yelped, with a sudden and adamant rustle of her bedding. All of which sounded like it was being dragged off the bed with her. 

Derek grabbed his pillow and started toward the door, but froze when Gwen whimpered.

"No, no, no, no..." Laura softened her chanting into a gentle tune. 

Upstairs, his father started humming along with the tune. Peter joined in after a moment, despite Tania's sleepy growl. 

Derek made his way into the hall as Gwen calmed down, catching just a flash of magenta from the staircase as the trailing end of Laura's sheet disappeared up over the railing. He followed, taking as few steps as he could without disturbing baby werewolf ears.

Stiles' door opened, he gave one last sleepy mumble, then a quickly muffled screech.

Derek hesitated at the top of the stairs, listening as Jacob and Gwen snuffled and rearranged themselves. Didn't wake up.

When he finally made it into Stiles' room, Laura was crouched over Stiles and had a twist of her sheet pressed against his mouth. "Oh my god, Stiles. _So. Traumatizing._ "

Stiles flailed and pushed at the sheet, but he whispered at least. "What-- _Why_ \-- Wh-- Augh!"

Snorting, Derek closed the door behind him and crossed the room, crawling into Stiles' bed and doing his best to ignore the sudden uptick in his pulse. "You were talking in your sleep."

Stiles gaped for a moment, before turning nearly the same shade as the sheet and covering his head with it. "Oh my goooooood."

"Joking about wanting to listen to you guys make out is funny. Listening to you have a wet dream is just mentally scarring, okay? Now stop defiling my bedding," Laura grumped, snatching the sheet away and starting to haphazardly fold it. "We're sleeping here tonight."

"...how is that going to do anything but make this even more embarrassing?"

Laura smiled at Stiles and wedged her sheet-cushion between her hips and his before curling up on her side and pinning Stiles on his back with an arm over his stomach. "This wouldn't be awkward if you weren't human."

While Stiles spluttered, Derek arranged himself on Stiles' other side, hooking his lower leg under one of Stiles' and letting a hand curl up on his chest. "Just close your eyes and think about puppies."

"Puppies." Stiles didn't sound impressed by his advice.

"Puppies," Laura repeated firmly, pinching Stiles' side. "Because puppies curl up together non-sexually for warmth and comfort all the time."

Stiles sighed, long and drawn out. "Okay. This is still the worst idea ever. Puppies. Okay."

Laura was out as soon as she had a minute of silence. Stiles squirmed, but Derek and Laura just moved with him, keeping him secure and comfortable without thought. And, in Laura's case, consciousness.

They'd had a lot of experience with this. With Danielle. With Matt. That had always been nightmares, but the principle was the same.

It took nearly half an hour, but Stiles adjusted and relaxed. His arms were pinned, but it hadn't taken long for him to figure out that if he moved, they'd move with him. So he twisted to his side and Derek rolled onto his back, sliding an arm around Stiles' shoulders when he kept curling forward. Laura grumbled in her sleep, but she was pressed up against Stiles' back as soon as he settled, reaching across him to clench a hand in Derek's shirt.

Stiles snorted and Derek turned his head to nuzzle Stiles' temple. "shh. Just sleep."

"Easy for you to say," Stiles whispered back, but he was smiling and already sounded half out of it.

Then he was asleep, and Derek followed after.

\-----

The first thing that registered as he woke up was the fake shutter sound of a camera phone.

Derek slit open an eye to glare at Laura, who was doubled over with the effort of keeping her laughter silent, then at Peter who was lounging in the doorway. Smirking.

"What?"

Stiles answered his rasp with a sleepy murmur that didn't sound at all coherent.

And Derek could _feel_ it.

Because Stiles had his mouth smashed up against his hand.

Twitching, Derek lifted his head to take in his position. Which involved, apparently, spooning Stiles. Who had a firm grip on his wrist, despite being asleep, and was holding it in convenient biting range. 

And thank fuck, they'd apparently twisted the covers between them at some point in the night. And that he'd woken up first.

What was his life.

Laura took another photo and Derek groaned, pulling away carefully. Still asleep, Stiles whined as Derek carefully removed his wrist, then grumbled and flopped onto his back before rolling again and wiggling into the warm spot Derek had left. 

"Awww..." Laura cooed, snapping another shot. 

Derek wasn't awake enough to deal with her. He threw the extra bedding over Stiles, head to knees. Stiles started to thrash himself awake and Laura stopped bothering to keep her laughter silent.

Peter stepped back to give him room to leave, still smirking, but Derek couldn't really work up the energy to care.

He had an appointment with a bathroom. Even if he had to kick someone out of one of them.

\-----

It wasn't unusual for him to go for a run before breakfast, if he didn't need to leave right away. And it wasn't like he went far; just around the secondary perimeter. He wasn't avoiding Stiles.

Much.

Just until he could see Stiles and not turn red, thinking about how he'd said Derek's name in his sleep. The way he'd said it. How it had sounded. How he'd felt, waking up. _Christ_.

His phone chirped as the loop brought him close to the house again. Derek slowed to a walk as he checked his screen.

_Stiles is fine. Gwen. Get home._

Derek nearly dropped his phone, trying to shove it in his pocket and run at the same time, and he really. Didn't. Care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warning continued:** By "playful smothering", I mean someone's face is obscured by a pillow and pressure is applied. In acting the gesture out myself, pressure lasted for less than a second.
> 
> There are also other instances in this chapter where people have some part of their face covered by someone else. _At no point in time is anyone in actual danger because of this._
> 
> If you need to skip that moment or just prepare yourself in advance, look for the paragraph beginning with the line "But now get out, so you can sleep?" and skip the following paragraph entirely. It shouldn't badly disrupt your understanding of the story.
> 
> \-----
> 
> **Tattoo artist of the week!** [Grisha Maslov](http://www.tattoo-world.ru/index.php/ru), who does some amazing things with splatter work. (The gallery is option 3 on the menu. Please note that the website plays sound.) 
> 
> As a bonus feature, have an easier to skim [gallery of Grisha Maslov's work, courtesy of the tattr tumblr](http://tattr.tumblr.com/tagged/Grisha-Maslov). This tumblr is amazing, and many of the next several artists will be discoveries I made via tattr.
> 
>  
> 
> And now, if y'all don't mind, I think I'll go burrow into a safe hiding spot until I no longer think anyone is baying for my blood. (So...next week, probably.)


	25. these bats are morose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something I keep thinking I need to do and forgetting when updating time rolls around. **Thank you guys so much.** This is not a short story, and it means a lot to me that you're actually interested. Thank you for all the comments as well. I'm horrible about replying to them most of the time, but...well. A lot of people have mentioned how Indelible Marks is the bright spot of their Monday. You guys are the bright spot of mine. So thanks.

Laura stopped him at the doorway, hands hard against his chest. "Did _not_ realize you were so close."

"What--"

\--there was no growling.

His pulse was still pounding in his ears but it was easier to hear, now that he was still. The strained quiet of the house. Floorboards on the second story creaking under someone's weight. Faint whines from the kids in the kitchen. Slowly steadying heartbeats scattered all throughout the house. Gwen talking.

Gwen _talking_. Rapid fire, miserable, lisping around fangs, but _talking_.

 _What happened_ turned into _What the fuck_ in his head, but crisis or not, Tania would skin him alive for dropping an f-bomb around the kids. He stared at Laura and pressed forward against her hands, letting a growl start just enough that she'd be able to feel the threat. He needed _answers_.

"Uh," Laura grimaced, shrugging as she dropped her arms. Finally. "Apparently, Stiles is a Gwen whisperer?"

" _Stiles_." The word felt flat and heavy, even to his own ears. 

"Yeah, that sounds awful," Stiles said, as if on cue. Talking to Gwen. Standing right next to her, with his heart pounding too fast to be healthy. Up on the second floor, where he couldn't _see_ them. "I know you three are close. Have you talked to anybody about why you can't go to school with the others?"

"I know why. I'm bad and I hurt people, so I don't get to go out."

Gwen's heartbeat stayed steady, but all the adults he could hear stuttered. In the kitchen, Tania whined. Derek was fairly sure _he_ flinched, but he couldn't feel it. Too focused on listening.

His mother's low growl from the third floor was probably the only thing that kept the entire pack from converging on Gwen, then. The bond between them all was thrumming with distress and the need to comfort and heal.

And a bit of stale panic. That was probably his fault.

"Hurting people is a problem," Stiles said seriously, and how the hell was he this calm? Or-- No. His voice was calm. His heart was still-- "But I think you need to talk to someone to get the full story. Let's go find your mom."

Tania was at the base of the stairs before Stiles had finished talking.

"I want Daddy," Gwen sulked, but she'd lost her lisp and she was walking with Stiles.

Tania hesitated, glancing through the door at Derek and Laura with a conflicted look. But it wasn't like they had answers for her.

Nobody had ever had answers for her, when it came to Gwen.

"Okay. But I heard your dad's going to be here all day, and your mom's leaving for work soon."

"...I want Mommy."

Tania bypassed the stairs, jumping straight up to the landing.

"Gwen whisperer," Laura muttered, nodding. She was tracking Tania, staring up at the ceiling as though she could see through it as Tania hurried toward the next set of stairs. "I didn't hear how it started. We were all panicking and I was tuning in to their heartbeats and feet too much to catch what he did, but..."

"We'll discuss it later," Peter said, firm and tense and...the only adult in the kitchen. "Right now, I could use a hand here."

He could hear Tania and his mother starting to talk to Gwen in soft, gentle tones. Stiles' heart rate was still too fast, but it wasn't moving away from Gwen.

Laura bumped against his side before heading in for the kitchen and reassuring the other kids that Gwen was okay now.

It broke something in him, when Stacia asked, quiet and hopeful "Does that mean she can come to school with us?" 

He wanted to run again. Push everything away and let his mind empty of everything but his footing, his breath, his pulse.

Not able to hear Stiles. Not able to know he was--

Shaking his head, Derek stepped inside and pushed his way into the kitchen, nudging Laura away from the counter. "You're still Stiles' ride. Go get ready for work."

She growled but didn't object, leaving Derek with one finished and cut sandwich and a messy spread of school-lunch accoutrements. 

Jacob twisted around as soon as Laura was gone, staring instead of repeating Stacia's question from earlier. Derek leaned down to press his head against Jacob's, pushing his attention back toward his plate. "Nothing's changing today. Not in terms of schedules. Finish eating."

He pushed Peter out of the kitchen next. It wouldn't have worked if Peter had been doing anything other than staring fixedly at the ceiling. Peter growled a protest, but Derek just pushed harder. "You're useless, I need something to do. I'll clean up."

It didn't take more than that.

He wasn't left alone. Paul wandered in, juggling Erin and sighing his way through making another pot of coffee one-handed. He sat with the kids and kept them focused on eating their breakfasts and making sure they were on track for leaving on time, while Derek finished prepping their lunches. Dominique was lured in by the fresh coffee and perched on an empty spot of counter while she drank it, wearing nylons, slippers and an oversized t-shirt.

Niq stretched out a foot to kick at Derek's elbow as he was slipping the sandwiches into the bags. "Is that Stacia's? There's no mustard."

At the table, Stacia made a distressed noise and twisted around in her seat to look. Because Stacia was bizarrely attached to cheap yellow mustard.

And pickles, actually. She could bond with Stiles over their horrible taste in sandwiches.

"I'll fix it," he grumbled. "Just--" 

He'd mixed the sandwiches up. Stacia's sandwich was in Jacob's bag. Matt's sandwich (turkey _and_ ham, and all the veggies but no cheese) was on the counter so Jacob's sandwich should--

Derek stared at the sandwich in Matt's bag. It had turkey and ham and no cheese, not extra ham and extra cheese and only tomatoes and sprouts.

Sighing, he pushed the extra sandwich out of the way for the moment. At least he hadn't put the sandwich makings away yet.

It wasn't actually possible to block out the world, though. No matter how busy he made himself.

"Okay, yeah," Stiles said at one point, "you guys are _serious_ about the touching."

And at another point, "You never did answer my question. Butterflies or flowers?"

He heard Tania swear at the time and a series of muffled thuds while Peter laughed.

"Does it happen often?" from Stiles, and "Often enough to be a concern. But it's not Pen-gwen's fault. As far as we can tell, it isn't anyone's fault," from Peter. 

Then "you should get going," from his father, and more thumps. Stiles' heartbeat moving away from the knot around Gwen.

The lunch bags were finally packed with the correct sandwiches and the right snacks. Niq stayed on hand to double check just in case, only jumping down off her perch once all three bags were finished and sealed up.

Derek glared at the extra sandwich then pulled it closer and grabbed the mustard.

He knew _someone_ who could probably use it.

Tania hit three stairs on her way back down to the first floor. Stiles hit all but the bottom two. Paul shooed the kids out to collect their bags. Derek crouched to dig out a paper bag, grabbing a granola bar as long as he was there. Stiles bolted into the kitchen, stopping just short of running into Derek from behind and wrapping him up in a hug.

"Hey, sorry," Stiles muttered into his hair. "Didn't really--" 

Stiles laughed as Derek hauled him around for a more proper hug. Tilted his head back when Derek pressed his nose to his throat and murmured into his skin, "You're okay?"

He didn't need to ask. Didn't need Stiles' nod. He could smell it. Fear, yes, but no blood. There was no pain lurking beneath his skin for Derek to draw out. 

Stiles did smell...off, though. Hints of sour and dry lurking in his usual spices and earth. 

Mostly, Stiles smelled of pack, worry, fear, Laura and Derek and want and Stiles and _Derek_.

"We gotta go!" Laura called from the other room.

Stiles started to pull away, laughing when it made Derek whine. "I'm fine. I'll see you later, right? And we can--talk. Or-- Yeah."

Derek didn't know which of them had pushed forward, but they were kissing again. Hot. Short. A flash of wet when Stiles licked his lip. Bit it.

" _Stiles!_ "

Derek pushed the bag with the sandwich and granola bar against his chest, smiling when Stiles grabbed it. On instinct, if the confused look on his face meant anything.

And he was gone, smiling and biting his own lip as his gaze dropped to Derek's one last time before he was waving and out the door.

Derek closed his eyes, just feeling for a moment. He could hear Stiles hitting the ground outside and running along the packed dirt of the drive. He could smell him still. Picture him. The red over-shirt that wasn't actually too big at all. The faded band tee with the blue paint on the hem that stretched more than he'd have guessed. 

Laura's Camaro rumbled to life, pulling out and down the lane.

Derek exhaled slowly and started cleaning the kitchen.

\-----

"Derek, I swear, if you don't get your head out of your _ass_..."

He hunched over as much as he could on his stool, slanting a wary look in Vic's direction. "What?"

Vic sighed and took the last couple of steps into his space to lean heavily against his side. She plucked his pencil out of his hand and tapped the sketchbook with the eraser. "What's this?"

"Cartoon bats," he drew out, hoping it sounded as much like 'are you crazy or just blind?' as it should. "With a heart, and a symmetrical design behind the heart made out of swoopy lines. It's a commission."

The look she shot him was withering. "I can see that. And I was here an hour ago, for her follow up consultation. But I seem to recall that it was a _cheerful_ design, then. And that she liked it that way."

"Yeah?" Derek blinked and frowned down at the design, and...oh.

"The bats look _possessed_ , Derek. Possessed by a _sadness demon_."

He sighed and snatched his pencil back. "I'll fix it on the color draft. I was planning to copy the bats from my initial sketch anyway. Their faces were perfect."

"So, what, the faces on this version don't matter?"

"I'll _fix it_ , Vic," he growled, earning a flick on the nose. Either for his poor manners or because Tony had a client in back. "I can't help it if these bats are just...morose."

She stared at him for what felt like a small eternity before giving in to the giggles and burying her face in his shoulder. "These bats are morose."

"Vic--"

"These bats, drawn by you, are morose."

Derek slouched further and wormed his arm free so he could wrap it around her shoulders and scratch her head. Messing up her hair was only a _secondary_ motive.

"They're your bats and they'll be morose if they want to."

"Shut up, Vic."

She giggled out a hiccup and lifted her head, staring at him with undeniable fondness. "You should give them your eyebrows. Just on this sketch."

He did. Because his family was impossible.

Then he drew the whole damn thing again, with happy bats, so Vic would leave him alone.

\-----

The embroidery consult finally rolled around, and Derek was convinced he'd met the art equivalent of the love of his life. 

Her name was Yuriko Rivers, and she wanted a thin branching design up her right side from her ankle to nearly her armpit.

"It's just, it's a simple thing, you know?" she said, keeping her eyes on her hands where she was fidgeting with one of the paper squares she'd brought in again. "But at the same time, it looks really complex. I don't care if you make up your own motifs, so long as you use these ones in prominant places and yours look like they fit."

Yuriko slid three squares across the counter at him, eyes still averted and her mouth drawn down into a frown. "They were my grandmother's favorites. She-she worked them into practically everything."

"She's the one who taught you?" he asked, turning the squares to face him and letting them form lines and curl off into fronds in his head.

Yuriko nodded, a wistful half-smile on her face when he glanced up. "Yeah. Twice. I taught myself the third time, and it stuck. We just never saw eye to eye on how to embroider or what looked good. Pretty much the only thing we agreed on was..." She waved at the designs between them and laughed suddenly, covering half her face with one hand. "Jeez, sorry. I didn't mean to--"

"It's fine," Derek shook his head, flipping his sketchbook open to a new page. "I don't mind hearing the reasons. It helps, sometimes." 

He let a simple profile flow out, not focusing on making it anything other than a body to start from. "I'll take some photos of you before you leave, and next time you come in this will be more accurate. But right now, what are you thinking for the number and placement of the branches? How big do you want them to be?'

It wasn't like drawing with Stiles, but it was comforting in its own way. Yuriko talked with her hands in small, contained gestures over the sketchbook as they worked out a rough idea.

Their next consultation was going to be spectacular.

They took the photos in the back, out of sight. Yuriko red faced and using the fact that she had to keep her arms up as an excuse to cover as much of her head as she could, then went to wrestle with scheduling. Their first easy overlap was a week and a half out, and he penciled her in over her objections. "It's big, but it's a lot of repetition. I'll just be making a few small sections at first, to make sure I've got the right idea."

He was already thinking about how nicely a tendril of dot-work mist work would look, threading behind the base design. It would be easier to show her both ways and let her decide, before getting too far in. 

As soon as she turned to head for the door, he had his sketchbook out to start playing with some of the shapes in his head.

"Ack!"  
" _Shit_!"

Derek jerked his head up, startled to hear her gentle voice swearing.

He was a lot more startled to find Stiles clinging to the doorframe, laughing and off balance where he'd apparently fallen forward when Yuriko pulled the door open. 

She was fidgeting with the hand not braced against the door, but Stiles waved her off with a smile. "I'm fine. Really. Do worse to myself all the time."

"I am so _sorry_ ," Yuriko said, but she'd moved her free hand to cover her mouth and was giggling through the apology, even as she held the door while Stiles righted himself and strolled through like that was exactly how he'd planned to make his entrance.

Stiles gave her another smile before turning to Derek, and the smile turned into a grin. "No problem. Really. My attention was, ah, elsewhere."

She glanced back and forth between them, eyebrows raising as she headed out the door again. "Riiiiight. Bye! Thanks again, Derek!"

Derek waved, but his attention was mostly on Stiles. Stiles, who was still wearing Derek's clothes. Stiles, who those old clothes were almost too _small_ for. Stiles, who smelled properly like Stiles again without the odd dry-sour notes he'd had that morning. Stiles, who was bouncing over to his counter with a dopey grin. "I thought you were going back to the house after school..."

Stiles shrugged, pulling his stool out and taking his normal spot at the end of the counter. "I am. But Laura doesn't get off for another half hour. She's going to pick me up here."

"How'd you get here?" The school was at least three miles out and Stiles definitely hadn't had time to walk that. Derek pulled their sketchbook out regardless, since Stiles was there _now_. 

He could doodle lines and curlicues in it just as easily as in his professional book. Anything he wound up really needing could be copied over later anyway.

"Lettie drove me," Stiles tossed out, as though that was an everyday occurrence. "And really. I'm on the track team and _you_ have no leg to stand on when it comes to doing your traveling by foot."

That wasn't a conversation he was interested in getting into. "Who's Lettie?" he asked instead, leaning in a bit to take a subtle whiff.

Female and young, not surprising. High school, not surprising. Coffee, dust, sweat, floral deodorant, citrus perfume, leather.

Stiles poked him in the forehead with an amused smirk. "Lettie is also on the track team. I don't know her that well, but she works at Turn the Tables. That hipper-than-you music place a few blocks down?" Derek nodded understanding and Stiles grinned again. "We blasted Gaga the whole way here. It was awesome."

Derek huffed amusement and flipped the sketchbook open, handing Stiles a pencil but keeping the book close to himself so Stiles would have to lean in.

"You okay?" Stiles kept his attention down on the page where he'd started a sketchy triskele. The question seemed casual, but it didn't sound it.

"What do you mean?"

Stiles scoffed and flipped his pencil around to poke Derek's shoulder with the eraser. "You're more blank than usual. Hesitating before talking. Staring a bit more openly than you normally would. Altogether, it's giving you this fabulous 'hi, I'm mentally unhinged' vibe, but on you I think it's probably more like a divide by cucumber error."

"A _what_?"

"There you are," Stiles grinned, just a flash of teeth before he was talking again. "And I'll explain later. You'll love it. But seriously. What's up?"

He didn't know how to answer that. Didn't know what the answer was. Derek opened his mouth and closed it again with a sigh. "I don't--"

Stiles' face fell and that-- He didn't want that. But he didn't--

"I don't know what to be scared of, anymore," Derek heard himself say.

That was--more honest than he would have preferred.

"You--" Stiles pulled back, face twisting into a confused scowl. "What?"

"Everything I've been afraid of," Derek bit out, trying to get it over with as quickly as possible, "has just been--it hasn't been _anything_. I try to plan for it, and then it's just--"

It's nothing. Not an issue.

Like Gwen. Like werewolves. Like anything that might make Stiles leave.

All it left was this. Them. What was happening between them. And that--

It should have terrified him, after everything. But it was Stiles and it didn't. Which--

"You scare me," he offered, because it was as close as he could figure out in words.

Stiles gave him a flat look and bumped their shoulders together. "Okay, now you're not making any sense. You, big and muscley. Scary. Me, a hundred and fifty two pounds of pale, mouthy teenager." He grimaced and held his hands out, palms up, pretending to weigh something. "Not that scary, actually." Derek smirked and hummed agreement. Felt his mouth stretching into an honest smile when Stiles pulled a face and jerked his arms outward, scent twisting with pepper and cedar. "Seriously? That's all you're giving me here? _What's so scary about me_?"

Derek dropped his attention to Stiles' hands. There were so many answers to that. They all made his gut curl in on itself until it felt like his ribs were being pulled out of shape. "You could leave," he whispered.

Stiles froze, his mouth dropping open. His scent was...everything. Nothing. Confused enough it almost made Derek want to sneeze.

Sighing, Derek flipped the sketchbook closed. Then frowned as Stiles reached out to open it again. "We aren't using it."

"Yet," Stiles sighed. "But it helps sometimes, right? Like, the hand thing helps my brain slow down. It seems like the art thing helps your brain. So, coping mechanisms. Let's not throw them out."

"I don't--" Derek growled and pulled Stiles in for a kiss. He kept it light, pulling back when Stiles pressed in. Stroking Stiles' neck with his thumb and just trying to breathe in and absorb Stiles until he could understand him.

Stiles pulled away with a nip, flushed and smelling of stubborn and want. "Okay. That's awesome, but. You don't?"

"Deserve you."

That earned him a frown, but the bell rang before Stiles could respond. Derek leaned away and smiled for the stranger while he closed their sketchbook. Again. "Can I help you?"

Stiles pulled the book away from him and shifted back along the counter, drawing while Derek talked piercings and Vic's schedule with the walk in, and set him up with an appointment the next day to get his septum done.

Laura was walking in while the customer was walking out, though she managed the transition more gracefully than Stiles had. "Hey lovebirds. Had enough time to coo at each other?"

"No," Stiles snorted, passing the book back to Derek. "But I doubt we're going to get any more of that with you here."

"Still not a fan of the peanut gallery, hmm?" Laura sighed and walked over to rub her hand through Derek's hair. "Well?"

Derek huffed at her and pressed a kiss against Stiles' cheek, smiling when he turned to make it something more. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah you will," Stiles grinned. "Your shift's over just in time for me to pick you up. So...it's a date?"

It was still new enough to be a thrill, to make him smile helplessly. Derek nodded and let Stiles pull away. 

In the sketchbook, Stiles had left him another spiky-saur. This one was flattened out with a little stormcloud over its head, with a very sketchy Stiles leaning down to kiss its nose. Under the drawing, Stiles had written in _You deserve me if I say you do._

But that was half the problem, wasn't it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tattoo artist this week is [Dodie](http://tattoo-by-dodie.blogspot.com/), who appears to operate out of Lyon, France. Their [tattr tag](http://tattr.tumblr.com/tagged/DODIE) also has some lovely stuff, not all of which I saw on the blog.


	26. second date fail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor Kate warning for this chapter. Nothing specific, just a short reminder that Derek's brain isn't a happy place.
> 
> Also, a quick note. Enigmatic Roommate wound up re-reading the entire story this last week, and there was much facepalming to be had. Not because of any reasonable, expected sorts of problems with a story of this length, like forgetting and changing a detail mid-stream without realizing. No. This was because she found typos like Dererk. Typos that never should have escaped either of us. And yet.
> 
> As a note: I do at least 80% of my writing in a program that doesn't offer spell check. I do my best to check for them later, but things slip past me. So if you see a typo that bugs you, by all means, point it out.
> 
> (I'm actually becoming kind of fond of Dererk. It sounds like a sound effect that should have been hyphenated in. Der-erk.)(I have issues.)(I am also on pain meds for a headache. Sorry for the extra words and random.)

Derek was fairly certain that if his life depended on being able to recount his work day after that, he'd be screwed. 

Tony referred another consultation to him. He remembered that. Mostly because Tony had stared at him for a bit before grabbing the appointment book and scheduling it as a follow up instead.

It was a good thing Tony always took very thorough notes, since Derek was going to have to create a draft from them.

Cara hadn't been in, at least. He was positive of that. There was no chance that Cara could have spent more than a few minutes in the same room with him right now without trying to hug the air out of him. Especially since she knew that was pretty much impossible without wolfsbane and could squeeze as hard as she wanted.

Everything else was an incoherent smear of curving lines, precise angles, and rote exchanges.

An hour before he got off shift, when he was alone and had already finished the basic cleaning and pre-closing, he turned his phone back on. He had nothing to do until someone came in or he could lock the doors, didn't feel like drawing, and he was bored. There'd maybe be a message or two from his family, then he could play Angry Birds or--

Seven new messages.

 _Seven_.

Derek tapped his way through the prompts to the messages menu. Four picture messages from Laura, three texts from an unknown number.

_Blame Laura. Miss you_

then

_Stiles btw. How did we not exg #s?!?_

and 

_your family Omg. Gave me more clothes. Scent thing or h8 my clothes? Inquiring minds wtk_

The pictures were Stiles. The first, unsurprisingly, of them curled up and still asleep that morning. And John needed to _never see that_ , even if they were both clearly dressed.

Next was just Stiles, also from that morning. He was squinting, almost glaring, his mouth pulled into a sulky frown, and his hair was flat along the right side of his head and sticking out in weird tufts on the left. He was hunched over a pile of blankets and sheet that he'd balled up in his lap and looked...grumpy. And adorable.

Derek bit his lip and clicked to the next image. Stiles in Laura's Camaro, hand half covering his face and laughing. His cheeks, ear, and the base of his neck were all flushed red, and his eyes were squeezed shut. Trees behind him, so probably taken just after they got home.

The last image was Stiles and Matt, Stiles leaning over Matt's shoulder to point at the book between them, his other hand a blur between their heads. Matt was grinning at Stiles rather than looking at the book, while Stiles' face was all constrained excitement.

Derek set the third photo as his background and checked the time before sending a text back to Stiles.

_Dont know. Scent yes. Miss you too_

\-----

He was less than a minute from home when he felt it. A trickle of mirth and mischief from everywhere and nowhere at once.

Then he was eating dirt.

His mother huffed amusement against his neck while Derek focused on shoving the dead leaves and dirt away from his face. As much as he could with a paw planted solidly between his shoulderblades. "Did you _want_ something, Mom?"

She huffed again and stepped to the side, nosing at his face and throat when he sat up.

"Yeah, Mom. You're a ninja," he sighed, tilting his head and letting her rub and lick his face clean. "I'm certain you weren't cheating _at all_."

His mother snorted in his face and pushed at his chest with her muzzle until he fell over again. She licked his cheek and bounded off again, back on patrol.

In the distance, he could hear his grandmother laughing.

Derek sighed again as he pushed himself up. "Why do I put up with you? I should see if John would just let me move in with _them_."

His mother's bark was mocking, but at least she didn't circle around for another sneak attack.

\-----

It was always a bit strange, coming home after almost everyone else was asleep. Familiar but not, at the same time. Quiet breaths and slow, steady heartbeats throughout the house. The lingering scent of antiseptic and illness that always followed Tania home, the loam and rabbit dander that trailed Paul, paint and markers and glue, Niq's perfume, Grandmother's tea, the vaccuum cleaner that was starting to burn out, meatloaf and gravy and leeks, and--

Stiles. 

The living room smelled like Stiles. The kitchen smelled like Stiles. The _handtowel in the downstairs bathroom_ smelled like Stiles.

Derek was not stealing the towel for his room. He'd never hear the end of it.

He washed off the remainders of his mother's playfulness as best he could without heading upstairs and running a shower. And if he used the same towel Stiles had, it was just because it made the most sense. Small area, small towel.

There were leftovers in the fridge for him, he knew. He just didn't feel like eating. Instead, he crept upstairs and to his room, and--

It smelled like Stiles.

Derek shut the door carefully behind him and crept toward his bed. It didn't smell like anyone else had been inside, but _someone_ from the family had definitely been helping. He'd said they'd given him more clothes, but--

Stiles' shirt from the day before and the one he'd been wearing that afternoon were folded neatly and left on his pillow. They hadn't been washed.

Stiles was _definitely_ handling the werewolf news better than anyone he'd ever heard of, except maybe his dad.

\-----

He dreamt of skin. A heartbeat against his chest. Soft lips. Shared breath.

It was intimate. Languid. Gentle.

Then there were fingernails against his stomach and the air was gone.

Derek woke with a gasp that was both useless and painful. It was habit to roll onto his stomach and press his face into his pillow. He heard a worried rumble from...somewhere. Snarled as much as he could in response. Pressed harder.

His hitching breaths slowed with his heart rate, and he relaxed. Let himself try to breathe again.

Stiles.

He could only smell Stiles and himself. No trace of _her_.

Also, he'd ripped his pillow.

Derek sighed and pushed himself up, running a hand through his hair as he blinked at his clock.

Four a.m. Good enough.

\-----

"Why are you in my kitchen _again_?" Peter teased as he headed for the sink to wash his hands. "You kicked me out yesterday. Are you planning on staging a coup? You're allowed a coup if that's cinnamon rolls I smell." Peter ducked down to squint at the ovens. Not that it did him much good, as the one he wanted was turned off.

Derek rolled his eyes. "Double batch, on the last rise. Couldn't sleep. Baked instead."

"Ever a font of information," Peter drawled. "Eggs in the other?"

"Frittata," Derek confirmed. "Used up the spinach and mushrooms, since they were getting kind of old."

Peter hummed approval. "So...hash browns and meat?"

Derek shrugged, not that Peter bothered waiting for actual approval before pulling out a bag of potatoes to start scrubbing.

"Going to share Stiles with the rest of us again today?" Peter grinned when Derek growled and pushed a grater and the first cleaned potato at him. "Or ever again, apparently."

"Have to share him again," Derek snorted. "I need to leave him with you for dinner prep sometime."

"Why?" Peter eyed him warily and started stacking potatoes as Derek tried his damndest to catch up. Werewolf speed was only good for so much when combined with kitchen equipment that _really_ wasn't built with them in mind.

"Dinner was so bad he agreed we should just order in." Derek smiled at his uncle's faint grimace. "Also, they have a knife drawer."

Peter squeezed right through a potato.

"I thought we were doing hashbrowns, not a mash."

That got him a glare, but it wasn't his fault his uncle was just too easy about some things.

\-----

It should have been an easy, cheerful morning. Easier than the previous day, at least. No stranger in the territory, plenty of food made in advance and lunches packed up before the kids were even awake.

He even managed to avoid any sandwich incidents.

So it should have been fine.

Should have.

Instead, Gwen woke up first, ripping gouges in the walls of her room before Peter could make it to the third floor. Jacob woke up surly, and Stacia was sulky. Erin was fine when Paul brought her down, but Greg just wouldn't stop crying.

Grandmother Hale called the landline. She'd misjudged a jump on her last circle of the far perimeter and needed help. His mother had dragged Tania out with her to track Olivia down, but no one knew why it was necessary. Her pain was only a dull throb along their bond, but it wasn't going _away_.

The only bright spot that morning had been the cinnamon rolls.

\-----

Peter had already left to drive the kids into town by the time his wife and sister returned home.

It was just a broken leg, but it wasn't healing as fast as it should.

"We knew my age would catch up with me someday," Olivia said, shrugging off her daughter's worry. "It's not something I can _actually_ run from."

\-----

Derek was double checking his bag when his phone buzzed. New message.

_Go brevity! Sleep ok? Shrts = dads fault_

He was going to assume Stiles meant _his_ dad, not the sheriff. Otherwise, he was seriously missing something in translation.

_Shirts great. Thank you._

He didn't want to talk about how he slept.

\-----

 _Whose idea was it to make morning so early?!?_ was waiting for him when he got to work, with _Sugar = best_ following by the time he'd finished changing.

Derek shot back _Sugar from?_ but didn't get an answer.

The first two hours were slow, with just an appointment for Cara to let in and one called in reschedule. Derek's phone buzzed again while Cara was finishing up the after care spiel and logging the payment. She somehow finished up in time to hook her chin over Derek's shoulder to see _Coke. Also biology = so much better than chem_

Cara snorted into Derek's shoulder. "Oh man. Have you been holding this brilliance out on us?"

"No," Derek sighed, rolling his eyes. "We...never exchanged numbers." He clenched his eyes shut as Cara collapsed back onto her stool, laughing. "Shut up. He was always _here_ anyway."

"Ahunh. Right." She smiled at him and leaned forward expectantly when his phone tried to vibrate out of his hand. "Is it another text? I wanna see!"

Derek rolled his eyes again but tilted the phone her direction.

_Biology right before lunch = omg whyyyy_

Cara laughed again, and sent him out for coffee and sandwiches. Despite the fact that apprentice did not, in fact, mean minion.

\-----

There was a consult with someone who wanted a band of tentacles knotted together with no origins for any of them that ran late. Then an actual appointment, a series of circles along the outside of an ankle with a band connecting around, all in rough, uneven lines. 

It made him feel sick, honestly. The design felt like fear and alarm.

When he was finally done, Derek checked his phone again. Two messages, both from Stiles.

 _Caf fries still horrible. Don't understand HOW_ followed by _Just got latest assigned book. Omfg teacher hates us and wants us to diiiiie_ time stamped a bit over an hour later.

He shot back an eloquent _???_ , got a response of _thpearl sounds super depersing_ twenty minutes later.

Derek snorted. _Depersing?_

It was actually hard to get that down, though. His phone kept trying to fix it for him.

 _Shut up i speak words_ came back after half an hour.

His chest hurt. It was still two hours and another appointment until his shift was up.

\-----

Derek was cleaning up his area when the bells rang and "Hey, Tony. Is the hot guy with no tattoos working today?"

Tony laughed, and Derek felt his ears heating up. "Haven't heard you call him that in a while."

His space was clean enough. Derek tossed his rag into the dirty pail and headed back into the employees area to gather his stuff.

"Yeah, well, I've seen his back. I know better, now, so it's funny again."

It didn't take long to grab his bag, so he started toward the front just in time for Tony to lean around and pin him with a judgmental look. "What exactly were you doing, that meant being shirtless around the mascot?"

Stiles made an incoherent sound of protest, but Derek just rolled his eyes. "Showing him my tattoo, genius."

"Ahunh," Tony snorted. "Whatever. So are you two heading out?"

"Official date number two," Stiles snorted, rocking forward on his toes as he grinned at Derek. "Unofficial date number how the hell are our families this involved anyway."

Stiles was wearing one of his shirts again. A dark blue henley someone had snuck into his clean laundry (probably Niq, via Paul), that he'd worn just a few days ago. 

Tony shook his head at them. Derek didn't really care. He was close enough to lean in and press his nose against Stiles' hair. Stiles laughed and leaned into the touch, even if his ears were blushing. "You are so weird."

 _Werewolf_ , he wanted to say. Could, now, if it weren't for Tony.

Besides, it wasn't _his_ fault that smelling himself on Stiles was so addictive.

"So what are you two doing?" Tony cut in. "Assuming you don't plan on hanging out in the lobby all day."

Derek pulled away enough to see Stiles stick his tongue out at Tony. But then he turned to Derek and they were just...staring at each other.

"Uh..."

Derek shrugged. "I didn't plan anything."

"Well, great," Stiles laughed, shaking his head. "Second date fail. We figured out when, but not what."

Tony slumped over the counter, laughing into his sketchbook. "Oh, man."

"What's not as important as who anyway." Derek shrugged, and smiled when Stiles blushed and bumped their shoulders together.

"Sap," Stiles muttered, but he was grinning and smelled of bright happiness. "But we are definitely not dating Tony. So. Bye Tony!"

Tony managed to raise a hand in a lazy wave, even if he didn't bother raising his head again. Derek didn't bother, just stepped ahead so he could hold the door for Stiles, who squinted suspiciously at him as he walked out.

"I'm not sure if that's just good manners or a dig on yesterday's little doorway adventure."

"Have I ever held the door for you before?"

Derek smirked when Stiles hit him in the arm.

"So, wait, is this actually our second date? I mean, do we have to count dinner with my dad?"

"Or dinner with my family," Derek teased, to see Stiles roll his eyes.

"Dinner with your family was _not_ a date. I didn't even know it was an _option_ then. Jeeze."

Stiles unlocked his jeep and leaned across to get Derek's door while he walked around. He was settled in with his seatbelt in place and fiddling with the key by the time Derek slipped into his seat.

"I've got an idea," Stiles started, staring straight ahead at the dash. "But it might be a kind of crappy one."

"Okay." Derek fastened his seatbelt and smiled when Stiles didn't respond, just slanted a halfhearted glare in his direction. "No, really. Let's do it."

"You're not going to ask what it is?"

Derek shrugged and slouched in his seat. "Nope."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost...my buffer is dangerously short. My hope is that from my current understanding of where I am, I'll be able to get through the last of the current tricky section I'm wading through this week and will be able to pick up again with no problems. But as of _right now_ I only have one more guaranteed update.
> 
> Another chapter will go up next Monday, I'm just warning you for the potential for a short hiatus. If I **do** have to do that, it will also be to a set deadline. I will give y'all a specific date for when I'll start posting again, I promise. And, I repeat, I am trying _**really hard**_ to make that step unnecessary.
> 
> In happier news, I know I've linked to David Hale before (his name still amuses me) but I seriously adore the man's work, so I figured I'd share [his tattr tag](http://tattr.tumblr.com/tagged/david-hale) as well. It had some work I didn't remember seeing elsewhere.
> 
> New artist of the week (erm, I hope, anyway) is [Gene Coffey](http://tattr.tumblr.com/tagged/Gene-Coffey), with some truly amazing splatter and abstract work. Gene appears to work out of [Tattoo Culture, in Brooklyn NY](http://tattooculture.net/skill-type/residents/gene).


	27. scents and sociability

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Indelible Marks is going to take a **one week hiatus**. There will be no update on April 1st. Posting will resume hopefully as normal on April 8th. (This note repeated with additional material in the end note.)

Stiles drove them to the park. 

Not the patch of green across from the smaller library that most parents took their little kids to, with the recycled rubber 'gravel' and the plastic slide that smelled of urine within a few days of every cleaning. Stiles took them to the edge of town, to the park that was more an expanse of short grass interrupted by the occasional tree.

There were tires half buried in the ground, and a concrete tube that ran under the trailing end of the hill created to give the swingsets a large enough flat surface. Once upon a time, there'd been a jungle gym with a slide, but he only knew that from old photographs and Vic's stories. The city hadn't had the funds to keep it maintained, after their tiny attempt at an industrial boom had died. The most prominent features left were the pavilions; open structures with giant grills at either end, ready for a family to bring in the meat and charcoal themselves. Assuming there wasn't a burn ban, at the time (which was asking a lot for most of the summer).

It smelled almost wild. The only thing separating the park from the preserve was a chain link fence, barely visible through the trees.

"Well?" Stiles leaned forward against the steering wheel, squinting at him. "Crap idea?"

Tables, benches, open, green, shelter in case of rain, nearly deserted in more than just the current moment because of the season-- "Great idea."

It was perfect.

"Really?" Stiles grinned and hopped out of the Jeep, meeting Derek as they rounded the front bumper.

"Yeah." Derek bumped Stiles with his hip and started toward the path. "My family comes here all the time. I love it here."

Stiles grinned and pressed against Derek's side, herding him away from the cluster of tables he'd been ambling toward. "Yeah, us too. Usually with Scott and his mom, or some of the deputies."

"And let me guess...in summer?" Derek snorted, trying to hold back a smile as he glanced from Stiles to the tables and back again. "You have something against those tables?"

"Yeah, I can't remember which one Scott threw up on when we were kids."

Nearly all of the tables had some sort of unfortunate biological history, but there was no reason to point that out. "Ahunh. What about those?" he asked, gesturing to the next clump.

"Used to be splintery. I still have a grudge," Stiles sniffed and gestured to the next table along the path. "I have no reasonable objections to that one."

Reasonable. Lips twitching, Derek pulled Stiles past it. "It smells funny."

Stiles spluttered but kept up with only a brief stumble. "Are you serious? Okay. What about..." Stiles hummed, tone playful. "No, nevermind. That table makes me think of Laura. That's a no."

"A table makes you think of Laura," Derek repeated, laughing.

"That's what I said. How about the next one?"

Derek shook his head, trying to control his face. "Poor cosmic alignment."

Stiles laughed, letting his weight sink against Derek. "Oh my god, that is the crappiest reason yet."

"Complaining about a vomiting incident from nearly a decade ago didn't exactly set a high bar." Derek pointed out. "What about the next table."

"I dunno," Stiles mused. "I think it's too close to my hair color. I feel like I shouldn't be seen associating with it."

But that wasn't a no. Which was a good thing, since it was the last table, tucked into the edge of the thinned out trees.

Derek pressed against Stiles' side and turned, gut clenching as Stiles moved with him, bringing him face to face with that smile, and...

He jerked back, turning away from Stiles' collapsing smile and stalking toward the table they'd sort-of-not-really chosen. His hands were shaking as he dropped his bag at the edge and he curled them into fists. Tried to get them under control.

"Hey," Stiles' voice was soft and confused, his hand warm on Derek's shoulder.

"Sorry. I--" His words cut off when Stiles shoved at his shoulder. He let Stiles turn him around. Nudge him into sitting on the bench. 

Stiles smiled down at him and leaned in until their foreheads were touching. Derek let his eyes fall closed, breathing Stiles in and focusing on the feel of Stiles' words against his skin. "I'm kind of crazy about you. Even when you freak me out."

He snorted. "Noticed that."

"Yeah, well," Stiles sighed and huffed a laugh, his forearms moving to rest against Derek's shoulders. "I'm just awesome like that. I'm also totally going to invite you to the winter formal, just so you know. And prom, if you're still hanging out with me by then."

Derek's eyes snapped open as his head jerked back, so he could actually see Stiles' face instead of a too-close blur. He had no idea what kind of face he made, but it almost hurt and Stiles burst out laughing. "Oh, man. Your _face_."

"I didn't even go to _my_ prom," Derek complained, nipping at Stiles' chin.

"All the more reason to come to mine," Stiles continued, unperturbed. "And now you know you're crazy about me, even when I freak _you_ out."

Derek pulled his head back to stare. "I really didn't doubt it."

"Good." Stiles nodded, apparently deciding to brazen out the fact that he was blushing like mad. "Because Dad said something weird again, and I'm thinking we need to talk and I'm worried it's going to get into freaky territory." He pulled back then, smacking Derek's shoulder lightly. "If you want to cuddle for that, you're on logistics. I'd probably give one of us a black eye--"

He laughed when Derek pulled him down, turned him and swept one of his legs over the bench with his own. And Derek thought he could get addicted to that. To Stiles trusting him and just letting him move them both.

Derek tucked his nose behind Stiles' ear as Stiles settled in, getting his backpack situated in front of his lap and wiggling back against Derek's chest until he was comfortable. "No eye contact and slightly more dignified than sitting in your lap. I approve."

"So what did your dad say?"

A hint of metal twisted through Stiles' scent, hardly there at all in the flood of the rest of him. "Well, we already had an excruciatingly embarrassing talk about not letting you pressure me into anything I wasn't ready for. I'm sure that's a shock," he added, with a tone that told Derek he was rolling his eyes. "But when I got home _last_ night, he wanted to make sure that I knew I shouldn't pressure _you_ into anything you weren't ready for either. And we had a horrible attempt at a talk about the importance of communication and respect in relationships."

He'd probably found Derek's statement, then. Derek dropped his head against Stiles' shoulder and tried not to laugh.

"Th-- Dude, this is _not funny_ ," Stiles said, even though it sounded like he was trying not to laugh now too. "That was _excruciating_ , okay?"

"I know."

"Yesterday was full of awful things and you hate me," Stiles sighed, thunking his head lightly against Derek's. "It's clear now."

"Mhmm."

Stiles snorted and bumped their heads together again. "You weren't supposed to agree with that one."

"Mmm."

"You are totally stoned on smelling me right now, aren't you," Stiles said, amusement coloring every word. 

Derek made an agreeable noise and rubbed his nose against Stiles' neck, drawing out more of the musky spice-vanilla-apple-sweet- _Stiles_ that was blanketing his world.

"Your dad told me about this," Stiles continued. "And totally unlike my own father, he said I should take shameless advantage when it happens. I guess I'm glad he trusts me not to be too horrible, but really."

He sighed and pushed back against Derek. Nudged their heads together. Asked softly. "What made you freeze up?"

"Kate," he mumbled into Stiles' skin. Listened as Stiles' heart picked up a notch. "That...lean and turn move. It's something she did."

He felt like he wanted to be sick just talking about it. But it was...possible, if not easy, wrapped up in Stiles like this. His scent everywhere, his heartbeat thrumming through Derek's ribs, his hands clenched over Derek's sleeves.

Stiles gave him a moment before tilting his head back and pressing his cheek to Derek's jaw. "Who was Kate?"

Possible.

Barely.

"I loved her," he admitted, mentally flinching at how flat he sounded. "She tried to kill my family."

Stiles was quiet, after that, with something wet and sour working its way into his scent .

After a minute of silence, Stiles moved his bag to the table and--pulled away. Derek had to force down the instinct to cling, to hold Stiles close and keep him there. If Stiles needed to get away, that was-- That _had to be_ fine. He couldn't--

Stiles didn't leave. He turned around and plopped back down on the bench, scooting forward until he could tangle their feet together and pull Derek into a hug.

"Okay, crap idea," Stiles muttered into his hair. "Park benches, totally not suitable for cuddling."

Derek couldn't bring himself to care. Stiles had pulled him right down into the hollow of his throat, and the twinge in his back was easy enough to ignore for that.

He didn't want to move again. Ever.

"So. New idea," Stiles said, his voice thrumming against Derek's face. "This can be our table next time, but right now what I want is a _sofa_. So why don't we head back to my place for some totally innocent cuddling and we can deal with horrible conversations later."

Derek huffed and nuzzled further into Stiles' neck. "Don' wanna move."

Stiles laughed and pushed Derek back. "It'll be worth it, I promise."

\-----

The drive was unusually quiet. Stiles flipped the radio to one of the jazz-heavy stations Derek used at Tinge and slid the volume down until it became one with the Jeep's rumble, and they didn't talk.

Derek closed his eyes and let the world fade out a bit. He didn't need to know where they were. He knew where Stiles was, by his heartbeat and the immediacy of his scent, discernable even in an environment as soaked in him as the Jeep was.

He knew he was safe and that, for a little while, he didn't need to think. That he could just be. 

They slid to a stop (at an intersection, according to his ears and the cars rolling into movement ahead of them) and Stiles' hand was there for a moment, knuckles brushing his thigh in a soft hello before vanishing back to ths gearshift.

Derek didn't need to see where they were. He knew enough.

\-----

"Home sweet home," Stiles muttered as they turned into a stop. "For me, anyway."

Derek opened his eyes finally and blinked. The sheriff's car was nowhere to be seen. 

Stiles pointedly didn't meet his eyes as he slipped out of the Jeep, focused instead on his things and unlocking the door. He didn't say anything until they were inside, setting their shoes aside.

"So, yeah. Dad's not home. Won't be until pretty late." Stiles exhaled sharply and shot a nervous look his way. _Why_ he was nervous, Derek couldn't tell. There were too many options. "That's no big deal, right? Because we're both totally mature and not rushing into anything."

Derek snorted, and Stiles rolled his eyes. "Couch," he said firmly, and gave Derek a gentle shove. "I'm going to get a soda. You want anything?"

"Just...water." It didn't seem smart to refuse Stiles the ability to do something for him, right then.

Stiles nodded and bobbed his way into the kitchen. Leaving Derek alone in the living room. 

Again.

It still felt awkward.

Derek moved both of their bags to the coffee table and settled in on the far end of the couch from Stiles' normal spot, his back half against the couch arm and one leg curled up to give him a surface to draw on. It didn't take much to get his sketchbook out. His professional one, since he had homework and probably wasn't the only one.

"What the hell, dude," Stiles huffed as he rounded the couch and set their drinks down. "That is improper cuddling posture. I call foul."

Which was...fair. Stiles had been more than clear about his intentions, nerves or not. And it wasn't like he didn't want the contact. He craved it.

But his skin was crawling with a sensation he didn't understand. 

"Do you have homework?"

Stiles glowered, and didn't sit. "I am not spending our date doing homework."

"Homework is important," Derek said placidly, keeping his eyes firmly on his pencil. "I have some designs I owe Vic anyway."

"Uh-huh." Stiles reached over and took Derek's sketchbook away. He didn't fight it. He hadn't been working yet anyway. "Cuddle first, then homework." Derek opened his mouth to object, but Stiles levelled a finger at him. "Cuddling. Ten minutes."

Derek didn't bother answering, just handed over the pencil and slouched further into the couch, stretching his leg out to make room for Stiles. He'd planned on bringing his other leg up, but Stiles dropped a knee into the space before he could.

"Can I just--" Stiles blushed, scent flooding with stubborn and musk-spice-apple. He braced a hand against Derek's thigh and leaned in. "I want to smell you."

The twitch wasn't something he could control. Stiles grimaced and started to pull back, eyes going wide when Derek reached up to stop him.

"I'd-- Okay." Derek cleared his throat and pulled Stiles in.

He didn't have to pull hard; Stiles stretched out over him as soon as he had permission, pressing his nose into Derek's neck and clutching at the sides of his shirt. 

It didn't feel like a threat, even if it probably should. He could feel Stiles' breath, hot and wet against his throat, intensifying Derek's scent and mixing his own with it, even if Stiles wasn't aware of it. 

Stiles moved, nosing under the collar of his shirt, and-- Stiles' thigh pressed against his, settling in and asking for more room. 

It was a bad idea, and so much more than cuddling, but Derek moved to give Stiles what he asked for. 

They were still offset. Stiles was too low for their hips to line up, leaned too much of his weight against the leg Derek had braced against the ground to have decent leverage.

It should have been more sexual than it was, but Stiles just--relaxed and breathed. He still smelled of want, but it was soft, not sharp and immediate. His heartbeat was calming.

It would have been easier to deal with, Derek realized, if Stiles _had_ been after sex. Sex was an intimacy he at least knew what to do with.

They'd fallen into a rhythm, breathing in time, when Stiles moved again, dragging the tip of his nose against the skin of Derek's shoulder with a disgruntled noise in his throat that he probably wasn't even aware he was making. Derek cupped the back of Stiles' head and guided him up to the crevice under his ear. Their hips slid closer, almost in alignment as Stiles' lips parted and just _rested_ against his neck, maddeningly doing nothing.

Derek closed his eyes and thought about puppies.

"What do I smell like to you?" Stiles whispered, once they'd gotten settled. "Is it just a general people smell or..."

God, of _course_ he wanted to talk. While he was doing _that_.

Derek swallowed and took a deep breath. Which didn't help at all, since all he could smell was Stiles and want and _mine_. "It's-- Everybody has some basic scents in common. You learn to ignore those, focus on what's unique."

"And me?"

"Earth, spice, wood. 'S nice."

There was a pause, then Stiles snorted. Right against his neck. And it _still_ felt awesome. "Are you getting stoned on _me_ smelling _you_?"

"Scenting," he corrected, rubbing his fingers over Stiles' hair and ignoring the question. "You're scenting me. What do you smell?"

"Your family uses Tide," Stiles mumbled into his neck. "You...smell like people," he sighed, and it sounded disappointed. "But kind of...loamy, too. Like leaves. I don't know. I wish I did."

"So I smell like dirt?"

Derek grinned when Stiles grumbled at that, twitching like he was going to lift his head before curling in tighter against Derek's neck. His hands moved, flattening against Derek's sides for a moment before--

He wasn't aware of twisting and bucking up, but the next thing he knew Stiles was laughing and had wrapped his arms around Derek to hold on. It meant his fingers were no longer scraping over the flesh beneath his ribs, so Derek would take it.

With his breathing under control, Derek started to relax. Then Stiles' arms loosened, hands sneaking toward Derek's sides again, and Derek clamped his arms over Stiles', holding them in place with a soft growl.

Stiles...didn't seem to mind.

Derek closed his eyes, caught between savoring the _want_ pouring off Stiles (sharp, immediate, and intense) and pushing him away. "Stiles..."

"Sorry. 'S this pressuring?"

There was definitely pressure involved. "It's not--"

All thoughts fled his mind at the sound of a key in the lock. Stiles pulled away, blushing, but the door was already opening and he was still pretty much _kneeling between Derek's legs_.

"Wh- Oh shi--"  
" _Oh my God_ , Scott."

Stiles pushed up off Derek's chest, flushed and blotchy and smelling like emotional soup. The want was still there, but sour wood and something metallic and peppery was starting to take over.

Derek pushed himself up and pulled his leg from the floor up to curl between them. He wanted to think he wasn't blushing, but wasn't willing to lie to himself. The kid, Scott apparently, was still standing in the open door, gaping at them. Derek sighed. "Mind closing the door?"

Scott closed the door, but he was still gaping. It wasn't a great look, but it seemed to come naturally to him. "Were you just having _sex_ on the--"

" _Oh_ my God," Stiles moaned, turning and thunking his head against Derek's shoulder. " _No_. Everyone is still wearing clothing, dumbass." Not that it would have stopped them. "And was, probably, going to stay that way!"

Derek smirked and pressed his leg to the side against Stiles' inner thigh, grinning while he flushed and fumbled his way off of it. "Probably?"

"Shut up, I can dream."

"What's going _on_?" Scott moaned. 

"I think your friend's traumatized," Derek offered, and stretched out to grab his sketchbook again.

Stiles snorted. "More like he's traumatizing _me_." But he sighed and turned toward Scott, leaning back against Derek's legs when he pulled them up and nudged his toes under Stiles' ass. "Scott, this is my boyfriend, Derek. Derek, this is Scott," he said, gesturing vaguely between them. "And, by the way, he has a key to my house. Which I'm kind of regretting right now."

Scott not only smelled like antiseptic and puppies, he had the eyes to match. Wounded puppy was really the only way to describe that look. "Hey, come on. It's not my fault you were...doing that. There."

Just when he'd thought the conversation couldn't get any more awkward. Stiles seemed to feel the same way. Derek couldn't see his face, but the way his shoulders slumped and that soft almost-sigh usually accompanied rolling eyes. "You're right. And I should definitely have been expecting you to just barge in like everything's normal. Did you _want_ something?"

Scott frowned and shifted his attention to Derek. "I didn't know things weren't normal, man. Since when do you have a boyfriend?"

Derek turned his attention firmly down to his sketchbook. This wasn't really a conversation that involved him. Not really.

Maybe he should leave.

Stiles reached back and grabbed hold of his jeans, as though he'd been able to feel that thought. "Officially? Last week. But Derek's kind of been a big deal in my life for a lot longer than that."

"Well why didn't you _say_ something?"

"One word answer?" The metal-pepper was overpowering, and the edge in Stiles' voice was vicious. "Allison." 

Derek glanced up to see Scott reeling back, gaping again, but Stiles wasn't done. "Don't get me wrong. Allison's great. She seems really sweet and awesome. Which I can only figure is true, since you've been kind of blowing me off for most of the last year."

"That's not--"

"I staged an intervention, Scott. Do you remember that?" Stiles' voice was dry, but it mostly sounded like pain. "This is your brain, this is your brain on Allison?"

"That comic you drew about ice cream?" Scott sounded confused, and from that description Derek couldn't really blame him. "I thought that was just--saying I was whipped or something."

"No, I'd have used whipped cream if I'd been doing that. That was me saying you were a complete mess and had totally lost what little cool you'd had. Which you'd _know_ , if you'd been listening to me explaining it."

His boyfriend, ladies and gentlemen. Derek doodled an ice cream cone in one corner. He wasn't going to get any work done like this anyway.

"I was...thinking about Allison."

Stiles sighed. "Yeah. 'Cause I mentioned her. I know." All at once, the tension bled out of his back. "Do you want to work on homework or something? You're kind of crashing our second ever date, but that's what we were going to do anyway."

"...yeah, it looked like it." Derek risked looking up again, but Scott's expression had softened into something wry. "Derek has homework?" he asked, shooting a doubtful look over at him. "Really?"

Derek lifted and shook his sketchbook. "Tattoo apprenticeship. I have homework."

Scott watched him silently for a moment before nodding. "You don't talk much, huh? I can see why Stiles likes you."

Derek ducked his head to hide his smile, but there was no masking his snort. Stiles growled (growled!) and elbowed his leg. "I'm feeling mocked and I don't like it. Scott. Homework. Yes or no?"

"Yeah," Scott sighed, swinging his bag down and thumping across the room in a lope that Derek was certain belonged solely to male teenagers. "That's not why I came over, though! I just realized--" He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, which took that as encouragement to puff up like a cockatoo's crest. "Yeah, that I haven't really seen you much."

"Yup. You're a crap friend." Stiles snorted and listed to one side, flailing until he could get a grip on his bag and start digging notebooks out. "Thankfully, I'm very forgiving."

"No you're not," Scott grinned and flopped into Stiles' usual spot. "You never let anything go, dude."

Stiles rolled his eyes, shifting his legs off the couch and curling his arm over Derek's knees to brace his side there instead of his back. "Yeah, well. You're just lucky that includes all the times _I_ was a jerk, or got you in trouble, or hurt, or--"

"Might wanna shut up while you're ahead, and I still remember that I was the jerk this time."

The words weren't always friendly, but the tone was lighter now. The barbs more playful than hostile. Derek bit his lip against a smile. Their banter would have fit in just fine at the family table. They just needed to be trained into bread throwing and biting.

"So what've you got?" Stiles asked, kicking Scott's ankle as he dug through his bag.

Scott kicked back, but missed. "Not a lot. You're not in most of the classes I'm--"

"Yeah, shut up," Stiles cut him off. "I probably know it anyway. Sit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A pair of German artists this week, [Simone Pfaff](http://tattr.tumblr.com/tagged/simone-pfaff) [and Volko Merschky](http://tattr.tumblr.com/tagged/VOLKO-MERSCHKY), of [Buena Vista Tattoo Club](http://www.buenavistatattooclub.de/). If you happen to read through this entire blurb before clicking on the artist name links, I can tell you not to waste an extra tab. Though I linked to both Pfaff and Merschky's Tattr tags, the artwork is the same. Both artists are tagged on each image, so the tags are identical.
> 
> In case you missed the beginning chapter note, Indelible Marks is going to take a **one week hiatus**. There will be no update on April 1st. Posting will resume hopefully as normal on April 8th. If I can, I would like to at least have something to post to Kitchen Sink for the first of April. I have no idea what it'll be yet though so feel free to toss out suggestions if there's something from Indelible Marks you'd really like to see. ;)
> 
> I'm really sorry for this, guys. I have enough material I might be able to do week to week writing for a while, but the writing and the story will be _better_ if I have the chance to take a short break and work out a few kinks in the upcoming material.


	28. So it's not a sex thing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being so patient. <3 Sorry for the delay.
> 
> In this chapter, there's some discussion of ADHD, which isn't being presented very seriously for character based reasons. More detail in the end-notes.

"Why can't the teacher just explain it like that?" Scott scowled down at the page. "That actually makes sense."

"Your teacher probably hasn't thought to use your totally justified fear of your girlfriend's parents as an example of why people were willing to risk death in order to overthrow their government," Stiles pointed out, and Derek snorted. Again.

He'd been doing that a lot while they studied.

Stiles turned to frown at him and jiggled Derek's knees with the arm he'd thrown across them. "Are you seriously doing any better, slacker?"

Derek turned his sketchbook around and offered it to Stiles without hesitation. Watched Stiles' face while he flicked through the latest pages.

"...okay, not a slacker."

Scott leaned over Stiles' shoulder and Derek's hands twitched with the desire to snatch it back. But it wasn't anything personal. The designs were close enough to done.

"Dude, that is so cool." Scott didn't reach for the book, at least. He just nodded as Stiles flipped pages, eyes flicking back and forth as he took the drawings in. Derek used their distraction to grab his personal sketchbook and throw out a quick impression of their faces.

Abruptly, Scott's face lit up, his mouth stretching out in a grin that seemed to change his entire facial structure. "That's cat feet, isn't it?" He looked up at Derek, flinching a little at whatever look Stiles was giving him. "I mean. Foot prints. Of cats?"

"Yeah," Derek confirmed, smiling when Stiles turned an incredulous stare his way. "Vic wanted design options for a deceased pet, that weren't portraits."

Stiles choked on a laugh as he turned the page again. "So...I'm guessing that's what the little gravestone with the dead bird in front of it is for too?"

Derek shrugged. "People mourn in different ways."

Scott only looked a little disturbed.

\-----

It was interesting, watching Stiles interact with someone his own age.

Stiles flopped against the couch, throwing his head back dramatically while Scott grimaced. Derek did his best to capture it with just a few quick lines, because sure enough, Stiles was moving again a moment later. He left his back against the couch but his arms were sweeping through the air in broad gestures.

Derek abandoned his normal techniques for those, taking a page from Stiles' more animated approach and letting the arms bend and twist on the paper in ways they couldn't in reality.

Scott laughed and Derek flipped two pages back, adding more detail to the wrinkles around his eyes. He wasn't really paying attention to their conversation, too wrapped up in the lines and images they made, but Scott didn't seem like a bad kid from what he'd heard. A little flighty and prone to either-or thinking, which didn't help him understand his history homework at all, but overall he seemed okay.

Just...a kid. Scott was definitely a _kid_.

And he was Stiles' age.

Stiles erupted up from the couch, stalking across the room to--fetch something? A book?

Derek had just jotted down enough lines to remind him later of the dichotomy between long, straight-legged strides and noodle-arm gesticulations when Stiles hit the stairs and proceeded to fall up them in a vaguely coordinated way.

He blinked, and Scott turned a sheepish smile his way. 

There was no time to write it down, but the visual was immediate. His and Scott's heads in sloppy pencil, viewed from over the back of the couch with a rough _Oh Hell_ over his own head.

"You don't actually need to threaten me," Derek offered, gesturing weakly with his pencil when Scott looked confused. "The sheriff covered that, and I think my family likes Stiles more than me, so..."

"What? No!" Scott looked caught somewhere between horror and hilarity, and Derek just blinked back at him before flipping to a blank page. He _had_ to try and figure out how Scott's face had done that. 

Scott wasn't done yet. "I don't _need_ to. Stiles is plenty capable of defending his own honor, man." His face split into another impossible grin. "I mean. If he's not up for it, I could do it _for_ him. He put together a whole list of ways to get back at someone for heartbreak. I mean," Scott's expression crumpled, heading back into befuddled and awkward, "that was in case Jackson broke _Lydia's_ heart, but I figure it still applies."

Upstairs, Stiles was swearing under his breath and it sounded like he was actually moving furniture. Derek glanced toward the stairs and back at Scott. "He's mentioned Lydia before."

Scott nodded, apparently not seeing anything strange about that. "Yeah. I mean, I guess it makes sense. He's hardly tried talking to her since school started."

Which didn't tell Derek anything he wanted to know, but Stiles was heading back. 

"Have any embarrassing Stiles-stories?" Derek asked, grinning at the way Scott's eyes shot toward the staircase with a playful smile of his own.

"Oh, man. Do I have any that _aren't_?"

"Aren't what?" Stiles asked as he came back into range, squinting suspiciously at both of them. "What were you talking about? Wait," his expression collapsed into mild horror. "Why did I leave you two alone? How did I not realize that was a bad idea? Oh _man_..."

Derek ducked his head to hide a smile while Scott laughed.

Scott was a kid, yeah. But he seemed like a pretty good kid.

\-----

Eventually, Stiles started pushing his books to the end of the coffee table and Scott was picking through the stacks they'd made for things to shove in his own bag. Derek slipped his sketchbook between the couch cushions while Scott's attention was diverted, just as a precaution.

A stupid one, according to Stiles' eyebrow. Derek rolled his eyes in response.

"So..." Scott grimaced, and Derek tried not to smirk too obviously as he waved. "Yeah. Um." 

Stiles sighed and pulled Scott into an awkward hug before pushing him toward the door. "Bye, Scott. See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, definitely." Scott grinned back, then offered Derek another awkward wave. "Bye. Sorry again for, uh, yeah."

He fled, tossing a fast "Oh, and thanks!" back through the door just before he closed it.

Stiles turned back toward the couch and promptly covered his eyes with one hand as the lock clicked into place. 

"Considerate of him."

"Yeah," Stiles said dourly, his face going red. "I'm sure that's it."

He sighed as he dropped his hand, shooting Derek a sheepish smile. "So, for our second official date, we managed to not make any plans, freak each other out, bring up traumatic ex-girlfriends, get cuddle-blocked by Scott, and do homework. How, exactly, did we fail this bad?"

"Didn't fail," Derek shrugged. "Spent time with you. Learned more about you. Met someone important to you. Got to hold you. Sounds like win to me."

It was worth the embarrassing, painful honesty for the way Stiles jerked and stared at him. "Oh my--" He started to gesture, bringing his hands up then slapping them back down against his thighs with a disbelieving laugh. "You are seriously the biggest, cheesiest sap in the world."

Derek shrugged again, trying to repress a smile. "You like it."

"Yeah," he grinned. "Sorry about that though. I mean, not the..." Stiles gestured blankly at Derek before finally coming back and flopping on the seat next to him again, laughing when Derek stretched his legs out to rest across his lap. "Just. Scott. I'm sorry about Scott."

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if he did that a lot, since they seemed to have the kind of friendship that thrived on that kind of ribbing, but he held it back behind his teeth. 

"I mean, I knew he had a key, obviously," Stiles continued. "He just...hasn't really...been here?"

"Wanna talk about it?"

Stiles went still for a moment before shaking his head slowly. "Not now? I just-- I'm not actually mad at him right now, and I'd like to enjoy that for a little longer."

"Alright," Derek agreed, and poked at Stiles' side to make him jump. "What about _your_ homework?"

"Ugh, spoilsport." Stiles pushed Derek's legs out of his lap but made no move toward the piles of schoolwork. "I finished some of it while I was helping Scott, and the rest of it's going to take more attention than I can manage with you around. So no."

"Alright."

Stiles snorted. "Trust me. I don't want my grades to start slipping right as we start dating either. So..."

"Maybe we should do something about dinner." Derek grinned at Stiles' exasperated expression. "We probably shouldn't go back to necking on the couch."

"...there was an alarming lack of kissing for necking on the couch," Stiles pointed out, but he still sighed and pushed himself up. "Though probably more actual _neck_ than usual."

"Food, Stiles. You should probably consume it."

Stiles scoffed but headed for the kitchen. "Which is your way of saying you're hungry, admit it."

He shrugged. "I could eat." Stiles threw a pen at him, but just laughed when he caught it.

"Come keep me company," Stiles said, which...sounded ominously like he was planning on cooking. The thought apparently showed on his face, since Stiles glowered at him. "I'm serious. I am reclaiming my honor." He paused a moment, making a face before shrugging and turning toward the kitchen. "Which, really, means you need to be in the kitchen with me. So hop to it."

At least this way he could keep an eye out for problems.

\-----

The knives were still a travesty.

Stiles put him on onions, which was only mild torture. Then bacon, stashed in the recesses of the freezer.

"Cut that into fairly thin chunks. It defrosts just fine in the pan if it cooks on the side."

While he cut, Stiles--sorted. A can each of black beans, lentils, and diced tomatoes were lined up next to the stove, followed by a carton of low-sodium chicken broth from the fridge. Little glass jars of spices were clustered behind them, with Stiles just poking at them and occasionally lifting one for a sniff and slowly developing some sort of order.

The bacon went into a pot on medium high heat. Then half a package of ground chicken sausage from the fridge once the bacon went limp, and the onions once the sausage was mostly brown. Stiles passed him a can opener while he poked at the meat with a spoon, and Derek took the hint, opening everything that Stiles had laid out.

"See, this kind of thing I can make in my sleep," Stiles groused, turning the temperature down and starting to uncap the spices. "So long as nothing weird is going on. But by this kind of thing, I mean heavy, fatty, delicious messes. Not so heart healthy, really."

Cumin, celery seed, paprika, coriander. Derek watched carefully as each spice was pinched out, sprinkled in, and moved to the other side of the stove.

"I mean. This would feed, like, four of me. At least. But it's safe to do sometimes, 'cause Dad thinks lentils are the devil. Which, really, I might let him have a little bacon with his chicken sausage if he'd eat it with beans. Beans are supposed to be good for cholesterol, right?"

The meat mixture was a rich, brown, alarming smelling mess in the bottom of the pan by the time Stiles put the tomatoes in. The lentils and beans were drained but not rinsed before they were tossed in too. "Dude, no, you don't want to clean that off. It's important."

It looked horrific, but it was actually starting to smell edible.

Stiles glared at his pot of slop and added chicken stock until the mixture loosened up a little, then scraped along the bottom for any remaining stubborn bits. "Could you taste this? I'd normally use chili powder too, but I don't know what your wolfy sensibilities are like."

"Chili's better than cayenne," Derek offered, grabbing a spoon from the drawer before Stiles could offer him the mixing spoon.

He was a werewolf. He couldn't get sick. He didn't have any germs that could get _Stiles_ sick. Peter had so much to answer for.

It still looked alarming, but it...honestly wasn't bad. "It doesn't need chili."

In fact, it was disturbingly well balanced.

Stiles nodded, but he was frowning at the pot. And had no compunctions against tasting with the mixing spoon himself. "More paprika, though," he muttered to himself, and...put away all the spices, leaving just the paprika on the counter.

"You can taste the paprika in this?" He could, but. Werewolf. He had the impression humans mostly used it for color, not--

Stiles snorted, grabbing the jar and pushing it toward Derek's face. He didn't know why, paprika wasn't tha--

" _Shit_ ," he pulled back, eyes almost watering.

It wasn't burning like a stronger chili would have, but it was a _lot_ stronger than he'd planned his sniff around.

"People don't taste paprika because they use crappy, old paprika," Stiles said, setting the jar aside. "I have a deal with a neighbor. She goes through the good stuff fast enough that it doesn't get too stale, and I run errands for her when I need more."

"...you should introduce her to Peter."

Stiles laughed. "Yeah. Maybe if he's _really_ nice to me."

Derek felt something warm and loose settle in his chest. It had rough, jagged edges like fear, and the comfortable loops he associated with family.

Seemed accurate enough.

"Bowls are over there, if you're not terrified of this," Stiles pointed blindly. He gestured more up than down, so it was probably one of the two upper units. Derek could work with that.

Derek started turning to explore his options, but hesitated when he saw Stiles cap the paprika and put it away. "Weren't you going to add more of that?"

He saw Stiles' hand twitch on the cabinet door, but couldn't smell him past the fragrant pot. "Eh. Doesn't really need it." Stiles shut the door and turned back with a smile that looked mostly honest.

Mostly.

Derek grabbed the bowls down and pushed one at Stiles. "So... This doesn't seem to suck."

"Yeah?" Stiles eyed him warily, but took the bowl.

"Yeah. So what happened with the stir fry?"

"Argh, _you_ suck," Stiles made a face at him before dishing up a serving of whatever-that-was and poking Derek with the bowl until he exchanged it for the empty one. "I'm not used to ginger," he grumbled. "Still trying to figure out how much is enough and where too much is." Stiles' heart stuttered up for a moment and Derek frowned. "Was it just the ginger that was bad last time?" Stiles made a face. "Wait, no, I was the only one crazy enough to--"

"The ginger's what kept me from trying it," Derek cut in. "It was intense even from the living room."

Stiles scrunched his face up at Derek, then let it go lax with a heavy sigh. "And neither me or Dad knew about the wolfy thing, so warning me about it would have been weird."

Plus it hadn't occurred to him, but Derek just nodded agreement.

"It kind of surprised me that you didn't ask about my meds," Stiles said, turning his back to Derek and heading for the couch again.

Derek blinked after Stiles before following. "What do you mean?"

"When your mom ambushed us in the car and informed us I'd be staying the night, rather than asking like a civilized being," Stiles drawled. "I checked the emergency stash in my car, to make sure I had enough medication for the morning. Nobody in your family asked about it, though."

"It's not our business," Derek shrugged. "If you were family, we'd want to know. So we could help. But--"

Stiles flopped onto the couch and cut Derek off with a grimace. "What do you mean help?"

"Pick up prescriptions," Derek offered, sitting close enough that they could touch but hopefully not wound each other while eating. "Call them in or remind you to. We'd know how you smelled after taking them, so we could remind you if you'd skipped a dose."

The expression on Stiles' face was hovering somewhere between fondly resigned and weirded out. "Invasive much?"

Derek grinned and ducked his head. "We'd _want_ to help. Packs aren't very _good_ at boundaries, but we can learn them, to some degree."

Tania had helped with that. Significantly.

"Yeah, well." Stiles snorted. "I take Adderall for ADHD, which mostly means I'm a spazz who forgets stuff. For instance? Whether or not I added ginger." He shoved a spoonful of his glop into his mouth with a pleased hum, then shrugged and, "prby."

"Swallow first, then talk."

Stiles rolled his eyes and swallowed pointedly. "Probably. As in, that's probably what happened, with the stir fry."

And the paprika. Derek nodded.

That seemed to be the end of that conversational thread, though, and Stiles hunched down into the couch.

Silence.

Only not, really. Derek could hear both their hearts beating, the scrape of spoons against bowls, the never-attractive sound of chewing. Silence was generally metaphorical, for werewolves.

Also, awkward.

"Your--uh, dad has heart problems?"

Stiles made an indignant noise and gave him a look that seemed to radiate 'you tried' before pulling the spoon out of his mouth and chewing. Derek just waited. He didn't know what other options he had, really.

"It's not really problems?" Stiles offered eventually. "More like...flags. His blood pressure's a little high, and he's on medication for his cholesterol even though his numbers aren't bad enough to make it necessary. Which makes me think there's a family history, but-- Yeah." Stiles sighed, shifting until he could melt against Derek's arm. (Not a big deal. He could eat with his left hand just fine.) "And his lifestyle doesn't really help. Being the Sheriff and healthy, sit-down meals don't really go together."

Derek hummed and made a mental note to talk to Tania. And Peter. Again. "It sounds like you don't know much about your dad's family."

"That's okay. Near as I can tell, your dad was already in the family," Stiles quipped, busying his mouth with another large bite.

Brat.

"He took the pack name when he married Mom. His parents-- His mom knows about the pack, and isn't happy about it. His dad doesn't know anything. I'm pretty sure he thinks we're a cult."

"Dude," Stiles laughed, " _everyone_ who meets your family probably thinks you're a cult. 'Wolf pack' and 'cult' look really similar from the outside."

His parents, their marriage, and all the complications and quirks of it were really _not_ something he wanted to talk about, with Stiles. "Why is this suddenly about my family? My parents aren't that--"

"Nuh-uh," Stiles cut him off. "You are not going to end that sentence in a factual way. Dad said you're twenty three? And Laura's older than you, right? So if your parents got married _before_ having kids, your dad took your mom's name in... Wow, the 80's?" Stiles blinked, then turned to share a shit eating grin. "Their wedding pictures must be epic."

They were. So were the stories that went with them.

"If you don't want to talk about your dad's family, just say so and I won't ask."

Stiles went quiet and Derek let him, slipping an arm around his shoulders and leaning in to get a better whiff of his scent. It was interesting, tracking the minute changes the food made.

He wondered when the sheriff would get home. If he should be gone before then.

"Dad's family is why my parents moved to California. Mom said it was as far away as they could get without jumping ocean or wanting to kill each other over the climate." Stiles' voice was flat, his scent twisting with damp metal as he set his bowl on the coffee table. "I know my mom had a restraining order against at least one of them, and that my parents did their best to make sure none of them ever found out about me, but that's about it."

Derek put his own bowl aside, even though it was half full, and curled into Stiles until he was pinned against the sofa arm and starting to smell warmer. 

"My grandfather had a sister," Derek offered once Stiles' scent had settled and he'd started to relax. "My great-aunt. She found her mate in the sixties. My great-grandmother was the alpha at the time, and _not_ happy with my great-aunt and her _wife_."

"Oooooh shit," Stiles mumbled against his shoulder, and Derek snorted.

"Putting it lightly. My aunt's mate was a human with no interest in taking the bite, which was another point against her, as far as the alpha was concerned. They lived apart from the pack for a long time, but my aunt was still tied to it. Her parents wouldn't let her leave, but wouldn't accept her mate."

Stiles nodded and squirmed until he was turned a bit more toward Derek. "So... Questions." Derek made an encouraging noise and waited through Stiles' amused snort. "Right. Uh. Mate?"

"Werewolf for married, or a spouse."

"So it's not a sex thing?" Stiles asked, then laughed when Derek whined. "No, seriously. I'm just..."

"Mom _told you_ not to trust the internet," he groused.

Stiles was already shaking his head. "I'd have asked anyway. And I don't _trust_ the internet," he scoffed. "I use it to formulate questions. Which, yeah, you should probably be worried about. But whatever. So. Sex thing? Not a sex thing? Answer the question."

"No, not a sex thing." Derek flicked the tip of Stiles' ear. "It's a title, and a-- It's a bond. There's no--" He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "The pack is connected. It's a--network, I guess, of bonds. I don't know how to explain them, I just--"

"That's fine," Stiles interrupted. "I don't need the insider perspective. Just-- You said it's like being married, is there some sort of ceremony or..."

Derek was already shaking his head. "No. There's no ritual to it, it just...develops, when the relationship is right."

"Right?" Stiles made a face. "What does that mean? How long does it take? How do you _know_?"

 _How could anyone miss it?_ Derek sighed and tucked his nose closer to Stiles' ear. "The bond is _in your head_ , it's hard to miss once it forms. We don't know what 'right' is, and it usually takes years."

"Okay," Stiles said, but he was frowning and still smelled like processing, so that was a topic Derek expected to hear about again. "So what happened with your great-aunt and her, uh, wife?"

Derek paused, considering. There was only so much of that story he could share without getting into territory that, to a human, meant murder.

"She left the pack after my mother took pack leadership from her grandmother," he settled on. "The connection between pack members isn't just emotion, it's-- Right now, Mom can tell if one of us is hurt. We can all--" Stiles leaned in and grabbed the collar of Derek's shirt in his teeth. His eyes were closed and he wasn't tugging or chewing just...holding. Right next to Derek's neck. Derek cleared his throat and tried to reclaim his thoughts. "We can feel it, if there's a lot of distress or pain. If something has to happen, the alpha can...not quite force the issue, but it's close. The bond is a tangible thing, to us."

Stiles hummed but didn't react, other than shifting an inch or so along Derek's collar.

"When a new alpha takes over, those bonds are weakened," he went on. "My great-aunt-- She knew my mother disagreed with the previous alpha. She knew my grandparents had disagreed. But they wanted a human life. They severed themselves from the pack and left. Mom would have tried to follow her and convince them to come back, but the pack was too weak. We just...lost them. My aunt became an omega instead of trusting us. We have no idea if she's okay or--"

They were silent for a few moments, just pressed together. 

Eventually, Stiles let go of his shirt. "Why tell me that?"

"Because it's painful, and what you shared sounded painful too."

"Not like that," Stiles snorted. It sounded more amused than anything, but Stiles' face was serious when he pulled away. "Did you actually want to know about the Scott thing?"

Derek didn't consider that worthy of a response, and just stared at Stiles expectantly.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "It's boring," he warned, but it didn't sound like that was going to stop him. "Scott met Allison on the first day of school last year. She'd just moved here, and he loaned her his pen...then had to borrow one from _me_ because his spare turned out to be dead. Which, luckily, she apparently thought that was cute. Anyway--"

Derek let the words wash over him, nodding at the right spots and piecing together the blurbs and offshoots into a larger picture. It wasn't a surprising picture, but it made sense.

Boy has friend. Boy meets girl. Boy and girl fall in sickening, giggly infatuation. Boy is around less, talks to friend less, forgets about plans with friend. Friend withdraws and waits for boy to get his head out of his ass. Friend makes other friends. Boy stays oblivious, so friend drops shared activities. Boy notices, they talk, things get better. 

Boy and girl have problems. Boy talks about them with friend. Friend tries to help. Problems solved, boy and girl happy together again and meander toward the metaphorical sunset. Friend flails behind them and stops bothering. Friend gets on with own life, acquires werewolf.

Boy realizes hasn't seen friend much recently, and walks in on friend and werewolf necking on the couch.

Alright. So the werewolf wasn't quite normal, per se. 

"I know that-- I mean, this isn't just Scott's fault," Stiles sighed, sounding resigned and put out. "I know there are things I should have done, or could have done differently. I just-- I still feel like it's _more_ his fault, and that I've been pulling all the weight for a long time, now."

Derek moved his legs and tugged Stiles in until he was caught up against Derek's side in a loose hug. "Even I know you could have handled that better," he said, ignoring Stiles' amused snort of 'harsh' against his shoulder. "But I only know your side and you're my--" 

He lost the word.

Stiles twisted to frown up at him and-- 

Fuck. That trace of concern was just his imagination. Or his family, somehow. It wasn't--

The feeling intensified as Stiles moved, pressing Derek back to get a better look at him. "Hey, what's--"

_**Fuck.** _

\-----

"You _ran away_ from Stiles?"

Derek shoved his head between his mother and the couch, groaning and trying desperately to block out his mother's screeching and his father's laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't make as much progress as I was hoping over my hiatus, but I've figured some things out that I think will help in the long run. I have no buffer left, and only a few hundred words toward next week's update. Regardless, I am determined that I will have an update for next week.
> 
> No tattoo artist this week, because I waited until it was too late to get the chapter ready and I am le tired. I'm curious how many of you have tattoos now, though, or are thinking of getting one.
> 
>  **Notes on this chapter:** My knowledge of ADHD is largely through observation of friends and acquaintances, and internet research. Stiles' explanation of ADHD is not one I'd give, and he's not trying to educate here. He's trying to acknowledge and move on because he doesn't think it should be a big deal. That's a characterization decision I made, not a reflection of what I actually think.


	29. options

He was reaching for the black.

It came in messy, incomplete lines that skipped and shook in his brain. Uneven charcoal being raked carelessly over a rough canvas. Bits of debris scattered everywhere and smeared, fading back to white.

He hated white. It never meant anything good, inside his head.

Voices moved around him, dancing from casual to alarm and back again.

"Shh," his mother breathed against his temple. "Close your eyes. Come on, now. Come with me."

Derek let his parents move him. There was growling, and soft leather against his face, and the voices went away.

He sat with the white, trying to pin the canvas down so he could cover it properly. His parents were there, warm and comforting on either side, talking in hushed words that weren't aimed at him anyway.

It helped.

\-----

There was a crick in his neck, when he'd pulled his brain together enough to start paying attention to the outside world again.

There was a crick in his neck because he was curled up in the big armchair in the study. Which, yes, was big, but still not intended to support someone of his size coiled up entirely between the armrests.

"--missed Danielle calling, this afternoon." That was his father, perched above his head. "We told her about you and Stiles, by the way. She yelled for ten minutes."

"That's just because you upstaged her," his mother added with a grin in her voice, from his feet. "She's got a boyfriend too, now. _Apparently_ , she was having a hard time not pouncing on his tail, and he noticed."

"He's a mascot for their school." He could _hear_ his father's grin. "In case you were wondering why he had a tail to begin with. Danielle says it's very fluffy, and swings when he shakes his--"

" _Stop_ ," Derek groaned, finally. "I don't need to know my baby sister is getting more tail than I am."

Both his parents choked. It was worth the effort of talking.

Derek pushed himself a bit more upright and rolled his neck out. His mother raised her eyebrows at him from her perch on an armrest and asked, "So. Stiles?"

Groaning again, Derek grabbed the afghan from the back of the chair and pulled it over his head. A warm weight rubbed across his scalp through the blanket and his dad said, "Take your time."

"No," he sighed, scrunching his knees up and letting himself slump into the chair. "It's-- I felt him."

His parents were silent and still, but a building pressure across the bond let him know that he needed to be a _lot_ more specific. Quickly.

"I froze up, he was concerned and I could _feel it_ , in my head. It changed with-- With him. With everything. I don't--"

"Calm down." His mother leaned her weight onto his hip, practically smothering him with reassurance and comfort. "It's not a mate bond, it can't be. You've only been dating for a _week_ for fuck's--"

"They've known each other for a year, though," his father interjected, voice quiet and calm, an automatic counterpoint to his wife. "It's still short, but it might be possible."

His mother snorted and sat on him, curling over Derek and pressing him into the chair until he felt more like a chick under a hen than anything. " _We_ were unheard of and we'd dated for nearly two years. I don't think so. There has to be another explanation."

That was a calming thought. It shouldn't have been, Derek hated not knowing what he was dealing with, but the unknown was preferable to--

"Why were you so frightened?" his father asked. "If it _is_ a mate bond, what scares you?"

This was exactly the conversation none of the three of them wanted to have.

"Don't you think," he bit out, "that seventeen is a little young to make lifelong decisions?"

His mother snorted. "No."

"Yes," his father sighed, and there was a scuffing noise and a growl that suggested he'd swatted her head. "It _usually_ is."

Maria made an accepting humm at that. "Usually, sure. But it works out sometimes. You know that."

"You two don't count," Derek grumped. "You were the same age, anyway."

Mostly.

"I was still seventeen when our bond formed," his father pointed out calmly. "And I don't regret a single decision we made. Especially not Laura."

There was a wet noise above his head and Derek rolled his eyes under the safety of his blanket. "Anyway," his mother started. "This is solvable so far." Derek twitched, surprised, and tried to sit up but his mother just leaned more of her weight against his shoulder. "But I want to know what else is eating at you, before we get into that. What is there aside from the age, kiddo?"

"He's-- He's going to leave," Derek sighed. "College."

Most of the time, he was able to forget about that. He didn't even know what Stiles was planning for college, yet, but...

"So you'll follow him," his father said, calling Derek three kinds of idiot with just his tone of voice. "Even without the bond, you probably would have. Vic said it would be good for you to spend a year or two with other artists anyway, didn't she?"

Derek snorted, but couldn't deny how much of a relief that was to hear.

He would have followed Stiles, if Stiles didn't mind it, but having his parents' support still meant a lot.

"His father," Derek started, but his mother cut in immediately. "Is coming over for lunch on Saturday. We've already set it up."

His father chuckled and patted Derek's knee where it stuck out from under his mother's hips. "All this will do if it _is_ a mate bond is hurry that up a bit."

"Anything else, kiddo?"

"Nothing I can think of," he admitted.

"Excellent. Now," his mother bent down to talk closer to his ear, her voice dropping. "Did you know that new bonds can be--encouraged away? When it's necessary."

That was almost enough to get him out from under the blanket. "What?"

"Your mother and I wouldn't have needed the pregnancy, otherwise," his father added with a chuckle. "It was a common threat, with the last alpha. We'll have to research it, but it is a possibility."

"Alan will know, if Olivia doesn't,"his mother confirmed, sliding off him finally and taking the blanket with her. Because she was a horrible alpha. 

Derek blinked against the light and sat up a bit more normally. He didn't want to force something like this on Stiles, but--

That didn't mean he wanted it taken away, either.

His father slid over the chair arm and draped against his side, rumbling quietly. "We aren't doing anything without knowing our options. And now you know we _have_ options. Aright?"

He nodded, but... "I don't want to _lose_ him either."

"If Stiles wants out? You let him go," his mother said, calmly and precisely and ignoring the way she was crushing Derek's chest with just her words. "But, hopefully, this isn't a now or never thing. We can't be the first people to have to tell a bond it had to go away for a little while. And, _hopefully_ , someone's written down how to do just that."

His father nodded and gave his wife a shove off the chair so he could stand up. "If they haven't, we can contact that pack out in Nebraska I visited a few years back. Their alpha had a similar situation, with a more established bond."

From the floor, his mother snorted. "I'm the alpha, damnit. Why are you always dropping me on the ground?"

"To show you I love you," his father beamed down for the half second it took before Maria jerked one of his legs out from under him.

Derek pulled the afghan back up over his head. He didn't need to watch his parents flirt.

\-----

It wasn't a surprise to see most of his family loitering around in the hallway outside the study. They knew better than to try and butt in on a closed-door conversation, but there was nothing stopping them from listening in.

Laura stalking over and hitting him upside the head hard enough to make his vision go blurry for a moment was less expected.

Their mother growled as Derek pulled back to a more defensive position, but Laura _growled back_. "Uh-uh. He deserved that." She scowled at him and--threw her phone at him. Catching it was reflex, and that was all that saved it from an ignoble fate against the hardwood floors. Or his face. "Text Stiles. He's pissed and you apparently left your phone there, with the rest of your shit."

Derek blinked and whined as most of the family bit back snickers with varying levels of success.

He retreated to his room, ignoring Laura's possessive growl over the loss of her phone. He needed the privacy.

\-----

_Sorry. I freaked out. Derek_

As an explanation, it...was horrible. But he hated Laura's phone keyboard even more than his own.

Laura's phone chirped almost immediately, with _Omg, u suck.Will call when im done yelling_

He replied with _How long you think?_ and tried not to wince when Stiles immediately shot back _Tuesdy_ , or sigh too obviously when a _Jk_ followed right after.

It was an accident, initially. He hit the wrong key or brushed the screen or _something_ , but then he was staring at another message of _Ffs. He okay?_ from about an hour earlier.

He scrolled up.

_U home? Is derek ok? If he is im srsly pissed_

_I'm home, Derek's not back yet. Something happen?_

_Omfg. He left abt 10 min ago? Left everthng here_

_Oh My God, is it That Hard to hit all the keys?_

Derek muffled a snort against his arm. His sister, in all her ridiculous glory.

_Your house to home is a 12-14 min trip, I'd guess. What happened?_

_If hes no tther mby i should cal. Less typng_

_Der just got home._

_Ffs. He okay?_

_If he wasn't so upset, I'd snag you a picture of this. He's hiding UNDER mom._

_Der's freaking. I'm going for a walk. Will call when I'm out of range of casual ears._

_K_

His own message was next, and Derek closed out of Laura's messages guiltily. He shouldn't have looked at that. Not only because he'd abruptly realized that was an invasion of privacy, but because now he had a sullen weight coiled in his stomach.

He hadn't just made Stiles angry, he'd _scared_ him.

Worse, all he'd really done was learned that Stiles was mad (already suspected), that he'd worried Stiles (fuck), and that any actual information about what was going on in Stiles' head--wasn't available.

Unless he asked Laura.

Before he could make a firm decision about _how much_ of a horrible idea that would be, Laura's phone started playing Hey There Little Red Riding Hood and he nearly broke it with his haste to answer it just to make it shut up. "Stiles?"

He could hear Laura cackling downstairs, and tried to limit his focus just to the phone. Just to Stiles.

"I cannot believe you ran away," Stiles drawled. He didn't sound angry now, at least. Though disgruntled and disappointed were both strong contenders. "Seriously, after all the shit we've talked about, _that_ was what made you flee in horror?"

"It wasn't what we were talking about," Derek sighed. "I'm not sure how to explain. Just--"

"I'll bring your stuff by the shop tomorrow," Stiles interrupted. "Or I could bring it by the house. You've got tomorrow off, right?"

"Yeah."

"Cool. I'll bring it by the house, then. I'm pretty sure your family would be willing to play fetch for me, if you run off again."

The tone was teasing, at least.

Derek sighed and ran a hand over his face. "I'm-- I shouldn't. It should be...okay."

"You ran away," Stiles pointed out. "I'm kind of assuming you're really, seriously, not okay right now."

There was no arguing against that. "I...talked with Mom. It's-- Uh. It's an us thing, and she didn't really have a specific answer for it? But she knows where to get one, we think. So it's--okay."

"Wow you're articulate." Stiles sounded like he was trying to bite back a laugh. "Don't worry about it. Well, I mean, you should definitely worry, 'cause there are going to be _so many words_ tomorrow, but don't, like, try to hurt yourself explaining. You can do that tomorrow, when we have your family for interpretation and you can resort to charades."

Derek groaned and flopped over, burying his face in one of Stiles' shirts. Over the line, Stiles laughed. "Yeah, knew you'd be thrilled about that. But seriously, if this doesn't involve me then I'm figuring it's some weird, werewolf puberty thing, and you're a little old for that, y'know? So I'm thinking it involves me. And if it does, you or _someone_ is explaining tomorrow. Got it?"

"Yeah," Derek sighed, because they'd have to anyway, even if they were still short on explanations. "I'm sorry if I worried you."

" _If_? Oh my god, Derek. I'll just-- I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay? And ease off the heart attack inducing runs through the night, if that's not too much to ask."

"Technically, it was late afternoon."

"I hate you," Stiles said, but he was laughing again. "So much."

Derek smiled, rolling onto his side and wishing, just for a moment, that Stiles was there with him. Tucked in next to him in his bed and laughing. "I love you too." 

Stiles' laughter hiccupped and Derek was fairly sure that if they'd been face face, he'd have heard Stiles' heart stutter at hearing that. "Yeah. Uh. I should go. Homework, still, and you're a horrible distraction when I'm mad at you, too. So."

"Night, Stiles. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Night, Jerk."

He hung up before Stiles could, not sure he could handle anything more drawn out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For tattoos this week, have a look at the work of [Ivana Belakova](http://tattr.tumblr.com/tagged/ivana-belakova), who apparently travels but might be found in Slovakia, England, and California. I am in love with how this artist uses color. It's just amazing.
> 
> There will be another update next week, but I'm debating whether or not I need another hiatus. I've been a little worn out emotionally and mentally the last couple of weeks, and in my opinion my writing is suffering because of it. Regardless, there will be an update for the 22nd.
> 
> [edit: Can't believe I forgot this. Hey guys, **I'm[up for sale](http://ao3auction.tumblr.com/billtheradish) in an auction to support the AO3**. I have some additional information on what I'm offering [here](http://billtheradish.tumblr.com/post/47961276168/ao3-fundraiser-auction-bidding-starts-april-15). Bidding will be open until the 25th.]


	30. words, words, words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Indelible Marks will be on hiatus until May 20th**. More details in the end notes.
> 
> Brief notes: Re-watching some of season 1 made me realize that Stiles actually texts quite legibly. I have chosen to ignore this newly remembered detail and assume that this information was normalized for viewing audiences.
> 
> Also? I cannot for the life of me remember if we actually see an office type space for Deaton in the show. If anyone wants to point me toward episodes or references for that, that's great. But for this chapter I just winged it.

It wasn't that Derek had a problem with Alan Deaton. 

The man just came with horrible associations. 

Every time he saw Alan--on the street, in a store, at a coffee shop, a cafe--he went straight back to terror and anger, jagged lines clawing at his stomach while his parents and the Argents forced accusations and venom into a workable treaty under Alan's soft voice and relentless stare.

Alan had been the only safe place to look. So now, Derek couldn't see him without remembering the rasp of Gerard's voice, the clipped precision of Victoria's, the pointed smooth chill of his mother's.

He'd never been to Alan's office before, though.

"He's a _vet_?" Derek asked, hunching into his shoulders and glaring.

"Glad to know you're not too twitterpated to read," his father drawled while his mother poked warily behind a dumpster with the tip of her shoe. Something clicked open and she darted forward, coming out with a key.

Derek grumbled, but refused to protest on the grounds that he wasn't _prey_. He'd learned that lesson as a cub.

"Come on, both of you," his mother sighed, rolling the door up. "Alan's only got so much of a break between his early appointments. Hup to."

Any space designed to take deliveries and haul trash through smelled horrible, and the clinic's was no exception. Derek followed his father through while his mom took care of locking up, but _holy fuck_ he hadn't been expecting the clinic itself to smell even _worse_.

The scent of harsh chemical cleaners was strong enough to make his eyes water. He had a glimpse of a room that...honestly reminded him more of Peter's kitchen at the restaurant than anything. Wide counters along every wall, a large island in the center.

Persistent note of blood in the background.

He didn't see much of the clinic, letting his parents guide him by touch while he tried to adjust. The cleaners stung, but they were familiar at least. A thousand times stronger than what Tania brought home on her clothes, even on the worst days, but similar all the same. They passed a room holding cats at some point. Even the cleaners were less offensive than the reek of litter boxes, and even without that, the chorus of yowling and hissing as they passed would have cinched it.

Otherwise, the trip was pretty much a blur.

Next thing he knew, his mother was pushing him down into a chair and offering him a tissue. "Here, wipe your eyes then under your nose. It'll help clear the smell out."

"Sorry," his father added, but without much trace of sympathy. "I think we forgot how bad the smell can be, if you aren't used to it."

"Why are _you_ used to it?" Derek grumbled, wiping the tears away and focusing on their scent--him but not-him, simple and easy to understand.

His mother laughed, her voice and amusement dulling as a door closed behind her. "Because we used to volunteer here _all the time_."

Derek exchanged a look with his father and huffed his irritation when his father just smirked back.

Alan's office was small and snug, with only one small window and busy with comfortable clutter. A love seat layered with blankets (and dog hair), books lined up new next to old on the shelves, an oversized cushion on the floor next to the desk his father was leaning against.

More importantly, the only cleaners the room smelled of were softer. The bindings in some of the _books_ smelled worse. There was no masking the scent of dog, or the mixed traces of people and drugs, but it was at least a stench he could understand. One that didn't actually _hurt_.

The door opened again and Derek twisted to watch his mother and Alan walk in, his mother pressing him back down into the seat as she walked past. "Stay there."

Alan chuckled as he settled down on the other side of the desk, moving paperwork and random detritus aside and making room for a notebook with blank pages. "Maria explained that she wants to keep your friend's identity a secret, if possible, and she didn't tell me much about what's going on," he started, as Derek's parents pulled the blankets from the love seat and settled in. "So why don't we just start with when you met, and we can work from there."

\-----

"You didn't like him?" Alan sounded almost amused. It was the most honest emotion Derek could remember seeing on him. Or honest seeming, at least.

Derek scowled and rubbed his forehead. "No. He was just this obnoxious teenager."

His mother snorted, but Alan smiled. "When did that change?"

"I don't--"

"When did it _start_ to change," Alan clarified.

Sighing, Derek closed his eyes and tried to remember. To focus. (To forget 'When did she first approach you?' and 'How did you feel about that?' Burn them from his mind.)

Stiles. Just Stiles.

He let the colors spread out, exultant and vibrant, and felt his way through the nebula layer by layer. Voices continued around him, then doors and bells and excited barks and howls in the distance, but none of them were part of _this_. Weren't what he was looking for.

The coil was dark blue and dense, twisting under and through most of the cloud. Strong enough to hold the world.

_the effect that life has on the skin_

"The second time I saw him," Derek said, only realizing that voices had gone quiet around him when he opened his eyes. "He'd actually thought about what we'd been talking about. About permanence. He didn't just go for the obvious answer, he'd put _effort_ into it. I-- I don't know. I still thought he was obnoxious, but I guess...he was worth having around, then."

His mother was gone, out in the front, laughing and talking with someone he didn't know.

Alan hummed and sketched a wavy line across a triangle he'd already drawn in his notebook. Derek had no idea if he was just doodling or if his lines had meaning, and he doubted Alan would explain if he asked. There were no words though. Not yet.

\-----

His mother came back, Ms. Martin's papillon (whatever that was--presumably a dog) apparently returned to her loving clutches, and patted him on the head when David filled her in. "Oh kiddo."

Derek bit back a growl. "Alan asked when it _started_. It's not like St-- like he was _helping_."

Which led to talking about googly eyed tattoos, and doors on foreheads, and mermaids having sex, and within two minutes, his mother was choking on laughter. "Oh my god, Derek. That's _adorable_."

"I wouldn't have kicked him out if his ideas weren't so horrible," Derek grumbled.

Alan just smiled patiently, but his father laughed. "Derek. He was _pulling your pigtails_."

That was...possibly true.

Fuck.

\-----

They worked through most of the year like that, recalling countless stupid stories and moments that, in retrospect, meant more than he'd thought. And of course, through it all, Alan just kept smiling vaguely and raising his eyebrows and managing to pull more words out of Derek than he thought he was capable of. Mostly by not saying much himself.

The worst part was that Alan didn't have to leave very often, to deal with his clients. Derek's parents were dealing with everything except the cats and the actual exams.

Alan smiled at Derek as his parents swapped out, his father curling up on the love seat again while his mother went to fetch a lab on its way in to have its cast taken off. "Did your mother tell you why she's so good at this?"

"She said they used to volunteer here."

It was honest enough, but Alan's smile widened and spread into his eyes as he glanced over at Derek's father. "Her mother made her volunteer. Maria had...trouble, with pets."

His father snorted. "You mean she freaked out anything that had more of a survival instinct than your average teenager."

"So what was your excuse?" Derek shot back, and tried to ignore the predatory edge in his father's smile.

"Spending time with your mother in high school. It was a good cover."

\-----

"You said he went away over the summer?"

"For two weeks," Derek confirmed. "He brought cards in for everybody at Tinge."

Alan set his pen aside and just...stared. Expectantly.

Derek huffed and ran a hand through his hair. "He smelled...odd. When-- I complimented him. I said he'd gotten better, and his scent went-- Weird. _Soggy_." Derek felt his nose scrunch at the memory. "I didn't know that was possible."

"What did the card say?"

"'Cheer up sourpuss'," Derek recited. "And 'I'll be thinking of you', on the other side."

That was easy enough to remember. The card was still pinned to the wall above his bed.

Alan leaned forward, eyes intent. "You'd been talking with him through sketches before that, hadn't you? What did the _art_ say?"

That-- _Huh._

"It said I'd miss him," Derek said slowly, closing his eyes and letting the card drift through his vision. "That he knew I'd miss him. That--" Those mangled notes, and Stiles' comical anguish. "That he'd rather be at home sometimes. That he'd--" The wistful look on the more serious self portrait's face. _I'll be thinking of you._ "--remember me. Think about me, at least when he was drawing. That he knew me," there'd been something on the back of the card, "and would miss me."

It said 'I love you', and he'd _complimented Stiles' technique_.

Alan smiled knowingly and leaned back, adding shading to his notes while Derek slumped and hid his face in one of his hands. For once, his parents stayed quiet.

"Was he right?" Alan asked, when Derek was almost ready to move his hand and interact again.

_Yes_ , but-- "About what?"

"That you'd miss him."

"Like breathing."

\-----

"Oh my god, I don't know you," his mother moaned, covering her face with her hands.

Derek's face was burning. "I didn't think we'd get much privacy, after that," he bit out. "It was...good." Sitting with Stiles as the light went out, watching his face by lamp light, hearing him laugh while eating straight out of the middle of a pie. That didn't deserve mockery. It'd been perfect. " _We_ enjoyed it, that's what matters. It-- We...talked."

Alan's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, but he didn't seem to mind when Maria dropped her hand from her mouth and cut in. "With actual words?"

" _Yes_ ," Derek growled, slumping further into his chair. He could feel his neck starting to flush and he wanted nothing more than to run out and hide. Preferably somewhere on the preserve.

"What did you tell him, Derek?" Alan's voice was unexpectedly firm, and Derek curled into himself, shaking his head.

It took a moment to make his throat work. To bite out a "No."

He could feel his mother's frustration. His father's concern. Alan was silent, his scent betrayed nothing, his heartbeat was steady.

Derek closed his eyes and remembered. Stiles curled warm and lax against his chest, speaking painful truth away from him and into the dark. Stiles taking in the jagged lines Derek felt in his head and trying-- _wanting_ \--to understand.

It felt old. _Ancient_. Like it was carved into his bones at birth.

It hadn't even been a _week_ , yet.

"Alright," Alan said finally. Derek opened his eyes at his mother's hiss and watched Alan cut a stern look her way. 

It was _exactly_ like Grandmother Hale's, and Derek abruptly wondered just how long his family had known the man.

His mother subsided and Alan turned back to him with a faint smile. "Alright," he repeated. "What about what he told you. Did that have equal weight? Equal value?"

"I...guess?" Derek shrugged, unsettled. "I don't--"

But Alan was already nodding, and he watched as a curving almost-spiral spread across the complex pictogram of Alan's notes.

\-----

There was a rumble of a car outside, and Derek caught his parents rock-paper-scissoring whose turn it was at the edge of his vision.

Alan sighed. "Derek. Focus, please."

"Maybe I should--"

His father scoffed and pushed him back down into the seat on his way out. "No."

Alan quirked an eyebrow at him while he slouched down as far as he could. "So. Your date was in the shower when his father came home?"

Derek whined.

\-----

By the time they got around to discussing that moment on the couch and Derek's graceless retreat, he didn't have the energy left to feel embarrassed by it. Although for once, Derek didn't feel judged for his reaction. Alan just nodded and frowned at his notes, going back and adding sharp angled lines to previous curves. "Ah. So that's why you're here."

\-----

Alan frowned at the design in his notebook and tapped the pen cap against the page. "I want to go back to the vacation your young man took in summer. When he brought in the cards. Think back to that. Think about how you felt about him, then."

Derek sighed and let his head sink into his hand again, eyes first. He'd been sitting and _thinking_ for too long already. His brain was tired and stretched too thin and he thought he'd give just about anything to just _leave_. (His mother was out front again, and still managed to send the impression of both growling at him and agreeing across the bond.)

He could remember that, though. A confused sort of ache that felt like an unresolved _more_ , even then. Stiles had been a friend, but--there'd been more. He just hadn't realized _what_ yet.

"Good," Alan sighed, his elbows sliding against the desk. "And when he left?"

Not pain, nothing that kept him from functioning, but constant. An ache. An annoying absence, conspicuous in the hole it left. Like a missing tooth, maybe. Before it started growing back in.

"How did it feel when you left Danielle behind, at school?"

Derek's head snapped up, eyes wide. "What--"

A sharp ache. A hole. Something missing, impossible to ignore _because_ it was missing.

Looking solemn, Alan nodded. "That explains half of it, at least."

"The peanut gallery would appreciate more words," his father cut in, voice dry.

"Derek didn't see this young man as pack before he left, but he reacted to the absence that way," Alan said, as though that wasn't an impossible statement. "If this _is_ a mating bond, it might have formed so quickly because something similar to a pack bond was already there. But that's only a theory, and it only addresses _what_ might have happened, not _why_."

The door pushed open and his mother stuck her head in. "Is there something we can get or do that would involve leaving, that would help you figure this out? I'm starving, my husband's starving, my kid's starving, and you have a cat in the lobby."

_Freedom_. Temporary, but. Free!

Alan sighed and nodded as he stood. "I respect that you want to protect him, but I need to speak with this young man."

Derek could think of plenty of things he wanted less, but most of them involved blood and death. Stiles and Alan in the same room just sounded like a bad mix.

He just wasn't sure if it was bad like oil and water, or more like oil and a strong spark.

"It would help if I could see his drawings as well," Alan continued, turning his calm stare on Derek again. "That card in particular, if you still have it."

\-----

His mother didn't start the car, once they were all in. Instead, she sighed and twisted around in her seat. "Lemon chicken, that horrible eggplant thing you like, and barbecue pork chow mein?"

Derek nodded, even as his dad grumbled, "Is there a reason we're going to the _bad_ Chinese place?"

"Shut up, you're ordering," his mother chirped with a smile that was all teeth. "And then you're ordering a couple large take-and-bake pizzas, and another party's worth of Chinese from the better place. Add chicken fried rice and sweet and sour pork to that first order." 

"We could get the pizzas at the grocery store," his dad pointed out as his mother finally started the car and got them moving. "It's a little out of our way, but that would line up the other restaurants for the trip home, and cut down on our waiting time."

"Deal." His mother caught his eye in the rearview mirror and smiled, softer this time. "You just stay shut up back there, okay honey? You did great."

Derek nodded and curled up against the window, closing his eyes and letting the world fade into the familiar thrum of the car and the comfort of his parents nearby.

\-----

Nobody made him talk all the way through lunch.

It was fantastic.

\-----

Derek froze just inside the door to his room. Everything was exactly as he'd left it, and that was _exactly the problem_.

The cork board above his bed still had his schedule for the month posted, photos of his family, reminders about events he needed to know about, random fractures phrases and bits of art he liked, just as it always had. Only it was all pushed off to one side to make room for his stalker wall.

Alright, so it was drawings not photos, but it felt the same, in his gut. 

Stiles had probably given him a few drawings that weren't on the board or in his sketchbooks, but Derek couldn't remember any off hand. There were little creatures and people on random scraps of notebook paper or the backs of receipts, in addition to the ones he'd pulled out of his sketchbook so he could see them all the time. (There were, he realized, a _lot_ of spikysaurs represented.) 

There were also drawings _of_ Stiles. His own. The ones he'd liked best.

He organized his life on that board, and he'd devoted half of it to Stiles without really thinking about it.

It wouldn't have been that bad of a realization if he didn't know that _Stiles had been in his room_.

Been in his room and hadn't said anything about it. Derek had no idea how to deal with that, he just knew he didn't want to do it in front of Alan.

_Chng in plan. Will meet u@ schl._

Derek hated texting. He wasn't really a fan of phones. They were convenient, sure. Also tiny, fragile, weird smelling, constantly dirty, and expensive to replace.

He didn't get a reply immediately. Stiles was probably in class.

That was fine. Derek took the time to figure out the best way to tell his parents (or not) about the new plan and pull down the drawings Alan had asked for. That took all of...twenty minutes. The pictures did, at least. He didn't think he'd actually finish making a decision about his parents until he actually brought it up with them.

Derek sat on his bed with a huff and tried to ignore the nearly half-empty cork board that suddenly just looked--wrong. There were other drawings, though. Several sketchbooks worth.

He kicked the art supplies box out from under his bed and dug his last few sketchbooks out. Stiles probably didn't account for much more than a quarter of any one of them, but that was--still a lot. These plus their shared sketchbook, which Stiles still--

That sketchbook was in his bag, at Stiles' house. The other one, his most recent _personal_ book, was in Stiles' couch. And Stiles had seen him put it there.

Derek curled in on himself and thumped his head against the stack of sketchbooks in his lap. _His life_.

\-----

It was almost an hour before the high school let out when his phone finally buzzed.

_Im kping ur stuf hostage n case u run agin_

Good enough.

Derek shot off a quick _Deal._ then started bundling everything up that he'd need to take back to Alan. He considered changing for ten seconds, before remembering that Stiles had his running shoes. That was fine. It just meant he'd have to stick to the preserve, not the roads, so it didn't matter if he wasn't dressed appropriately for a human making that trip by foot.

He tracked his mother down to the study, dropping his selection of drawings in front of her on the desk. "I'm going to meet Stiles at the school. We'll meet you at the clinic."

Maria's eyebrows shot up, a smile dancing in her eyes. "Oh you will, will you."

She sounded amused, and Derek could hear his father and Tania laughing in the kitchen. Derek sighed. His family.

"Yes, we will." He dropped his head forward, sighing and offering submission at once. "I want a chance to explain to him, so he's not walking in blind."

Which was true enough not to disrupt his heart.

His mother probably knew that wasn't the entire story, but she reached over to rub his neck and push him upright again. "Alright. We'll see you at Alan's."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Indelible Marks will be on hiatus until May 20th.** I know that's a long time and I'm sorry, but I'd rather take a break and work at a slightly saner pace than burn myself out. However, this story is not being abandoned. If nothing else, Enigmatic Roommate wants to see the end of it and _she lives with me_ , so I really can't get away. (By the way guys, she sends her love.)
> 
> You can set a calendar date for this, updates will resume by May 20th. We are starting to see the end stretch, so in the (hoped for, but unlikely) case that I finish before then, I'll post everything I have as soon as I've declared it done.
> 
> I have a few other things to work on in the meantime, which is _**good**_ for how my brain works. It needs distractions and breaks. One of these things is [the AO3 fundraising auction](http://ao3auction.tumblr.com/billtheradish). Bids are open until April 25th, and my current bids are $40 for the top ranking 3,000 words or more slot, and $35 for the second ranking, 1,000 words or more slot. 
> 
> I feel it's worth pointing out that I expected Indelible Marks to top out at 50K. *wry* When I say 'or more'...
> 
> In other news! This is the six month anniversary of when I started posting this story. For those of you who've been around since the beginning, _I'm so sorry_ it's taking so long. Please see again where I was expecting to be finished about halfway through this behemoth. 
> 
> So again, sorry for the break. If it wasn't necessary for my brain at this point, I wouldn't be doing it.


	31. wasn't really a surprise

"Wow, you're subtle." 

Derek smiled but didn't bother turning his head. "I wasn't trying for subtle."

"I hope you're pleased with your success, then," Stiles scoffed. He stepped around in front of Derek, occupying the fragment of space left between the Jeep and a burgundy Camry. "So... Hi."

"Hi," Derek returned, shifting his weight forward and brushing his nose against Stiles', taking in the scents of his day and reveling against his better judgement at the flash of giddy fondness he felt. "We should get going."

Stiles squinted at him but reached around to unlock the car. "In that case, you should probably be on the other side."

He walked a bit faster than he possibly should have, but it was worth it for the view of Stiles sprawled out to unlock the passenger door. Stiles rolled his eyes and made a face when he straightened up.

They didn't make it out of the parking lot before the mass exodus began, but they were able to back out into the lane before the entire lot froze up.

Stiles tapped out a short beat against the steering wheel while they waited. "So. What are we doing? Aside from talking, because that's non-optional."

Derek held back a sigh and just nodded. If Stiles only knew. "We're meeting my parents at the animal clinic. Do you--"

"Wait, Beacon Hills Animal Clinic?" Stiles asked incredulously. "Dr. Deaton's?"

"Yes," Derek said blankly, staring at Stiles. "How-- _Scott_."

Scott, who smelled like wounded puppy.

Stiles nodded, looking like he was biting back a laugh. "Yeah. He, uh, works there." He stopped bothering to hold back, letting the laugh spill out while he leaned an arm against his window. "Oh man. You're lucky there's lacrosse practice today, or I'd want to give him a ride and that would be, just--" He shook his head, still laughing, and worked the Jeep up another car length as the line moved.

Derek made a face. "Yeah, no."

They moved up again, and then the Jeep was sliding out of the parking lot, into the relative freedom of the street. His sense of Stiles firmed, drawing together like it was getting ready to pounce. "So. Last night."

"We have what feels like a mate bond forming," he said in a rush.

And _that_ was a flash of panic. Stiles twitched and the Jeep lurched forward. The engine stuttered but they didn't stall or swerve into anything, so Derek figured they could call that a win.

Maybe he should have said something while they were still in the parking lot. And stationary.

"We-- _What?_ You said--"

"Hence the running away," Derek grumbled, running a hand through his hair. "It's-- It shouldn't be there. Not-- Not yet, anyway."

Stiles' heart stuttered at the 'yet', but he was grinning and smelling like warm contentment. "Okay, yeah. So--what part about this means that we go talk to a vet? I mean. Are you sick or--"

" _No_. For-- We don't go to the _vet_ , Stiles." Derek rolled his eyes and slumped back into his seat. "And we don't usually get sick. Alan's a friend of Mom's. He's not really-- He isn't part of the pack, but he's helped us before. To make the treaty with the hunters. After." Stiles nodded and Derek let his eyes fall closed, glad he didn't have to explain. "He knows things we don't, and he won't-- Alan won't prioritize the pack over _you_. Which-- We wouldn't mean to, but--"

"Not intentionally. Yeah, I get it." Stiles nodded, head pulling his shoulders along in an awkward bob. 

He was more relaxed now, but focused; his eyes were narrowed and his tongue was, for _fuck's sake_ , resting against his bottom lip.

Derek sighed and rolled his window down a couple of inches. He was going to need the ventilation. "There was something else," he started, trying not to flinch when Stiles shot a look his way. "Uh. You were-- You were in my room. Before."

"I told you, that was your dad's fault," Stiles insisted. "It wasn't my idea! Uh, that time, anyway."

"That time?" Derek thought he'd have noticed if it had happened twice, but now Stiles was blushing.

"I wore one of your shirts, today," he blurted. "I was thinking, uh. If it's a scent thing, I could--y'know, return it? And you could give me another one."

 _Oh._. "Pull over."

"What?" Stiles' pulse jack rabbited up, a tang of alarm working its way into his scent. "But. What did I--" 

"Just _pull over_ , Stiles."

Stiles sighed explosively but found a fifteen minute loading zone to tuck the Jeep into. " _What_? Was tha--"

Derek shoved his seatbelt out of the way and pushed himself up and over the console, catching Stiles' words and gasp in his mouth, trying to push gratitude back in return.

Their teeth clashed and Stiles huffed a laugh into his mouth, getting a hand into his hair and holding him close. The angle was terrible, his arm was bent in an uncomfortable contortion, and Stiles couldn't seem to stop laughing, making their teeth clack.

But it was the _best_ kiss, because he could feel Stiles' joy and giddy disbelief melting down his spine. _Because_ Stiles kept laughing.

Because he pulled back on a gasp, turning his head to the side so Derek could nuzzle in against his throat and asked, "Is that _you_?"

A rumble built up in his chest as he pressed closer, basking in his mate's scent and the possessive wonder that was reaching out for him.

They stayed like that for a minute before Derek's arm upped its protest and started shaking.

Stiles laughed and shoved Derek back into his own seat, making a big show out of checking on his Jeep and their surroundings (which, fair, if Stiles had let up on the brake, they'd probably be closely acquainted with the shiny Mazda parked in front of the loading zone).

It didn't do anything to mask the bright flush in his cheeks, though. Or the way he was smiling like he didn't even realize it, unselfconscious and brilliant.

Derek snapped his seatbelt into place and settled back in his seat. He was perfectly aware of the smug little grin on his own face, and couldn't have cared less. It was well deserved.

"So," Stiles coughed, checking traffic before changing his mind and turning back to Derek with narrowed eyes that were entirely at odds with his continued dopey grin. "Um. What? Something about me being in your room."

Right. That.

"I had a stalker wall and you didn't even call me on it."

He hadn't meant for that to come out as...fond. It made Stiles laugh, though, so it couldn't have been all bad.

"You totally-- Wait. Had? You took it down?" And in an instant, Stiles was frowning, one hand twisting on the wheel while his scent went muddled and conflicted.

"Temporarily," Derek said, amused at the way Stiles relaxed and bristled again almost immediately. "Alan wanted to see them."

"Right. Uh, why?" Stiles finally eased them out onto the road again.

The conversation was getting complicated. "In a minute. Stalker wall. You didn't _say_ anything about it."

Stiles' scent spiked to amused, with a melting-sugar note of fond. "Well, it's not like it was a _real_ stalker wall. No photos or evidence of surveillance. It was--" Stiles shrugged, freeing one hand from the wheel for emphasis before pulling it back down to shift gears. "Some of those drawings were old. Like, I think some of them were from before _I_ knew I liked you. And correct me if I'm wrong, but I think I beat you to that. By, like, _months_."

"Consciously, at least," Derek agreed. "Mom thinks it's hilarious."

"Uh, yeah. 'Cause it _is_ ," Stiles snorted, grinning and twisting around to check for cross traffic. "But what's the big deal? You have creepy tendencies. You stare too long and only insult the people you care about to their faces. You're kinda obsessive. You having a pseudo wall-of-crazy wasn't really a surprise. I mean, for you it's--I dunno. Kinda sweet?"

Stiles was grimacing a little, but his mouth was melting into a grin and Derek just wanted to fade out of reality and ignore the topic at all costs. "Right. Well, good. Uh. Alan. We're--the mate bond. If that's what it-- _Stop laughing_."

Derek huffed, but his mate actually pulled over. Again. This time to rest his head against the steering wheel and laugh until he started to _cry_.

"Oh my god, why do I love you," Derek groaned, thumping his head back against the seat.

Stiles just laughed harder, hiccuping around vague attempts at words and sending tiny quivers of happy pain along their bond when his diaphragm started protesting.

\-----

They made it the rest of the way to the animal clinic alive by virtue of agreeing not to talk about their relationship or anything related to it until they were parked.

Stiles set the brake and turned to Derek, amusement still bubbling strong in his scent. "So are we going to talk about our feelings, now?" he asked, with an incredibly poor attempt at keeping his face straight.

"No," Derek growled, flicking his seat belt out of the way and pushing his door open.

"Oh c'mon." Stiles stumbled out of the Jeep after him, but took an extra moment to grab Derek's bag out of the back. Derek waited at the front of the Jeep for Stiles to close and lock up. "We were having such an open, sharing time."

Stiles bumped against his side as they walked toward the clinic. His smile was irritatingly catchy. "Come on, I'll give you a freebie," Stiles wheedled. "Anything you're curious about?"

"When's your birthday?"

And there went his mouth without his brain's permission. Again.

For his part, Stiles just blinked at him a few times before his mouth started twitching up into a disbelieving grin. "Uh. April? Early April. It's, um, it's the eighth. Of April."

Derek squinted at Stiles, hand steady on the clinic door. "Why is that funny?"

"Vic already worked out a draft schedule for April, Derek," Stiles said, trying to hold back yet more laughter at Derek's expense. "Mostly based around the fact that you're going to have my birthday off, except for one appointment. Right after school's out."

_Oh._

It was a day for strangely intimate revelations, apparently.

Stiles just shook his head and pried Derek's hand away from the door so he could let them in.

Alan was behind the counter already, head bent over the keyboard and carefully picking out the keys as he typed. When he glanced up at their entrance, his eyebrows shot up and-- Resignation? "Stiles. I feel like I should have guessed."

Stiles shrugged, abruptly tense and smelling of nutmeg. "You sound like my dad," he grumbled before perking up. "Wait. Does this mean you're actually going to let me in your office?"

Alan sighed but held the counter door open and gestured them in toward the back. "I'm afraid so. Your parents, Derek?"

"Said they'd meet us here," he filled in. "I wanted to let Stiles know what was going on before--" Derek gestured helplessly, not really sure how to sum up the insanity that his day had been.

"I understand."

Stiles slipped ahead of them with no hesitation, zeroing in on Alan's office with a palpable excitement. (Well, Derek could feel it, at least. That was kind of the point of the meeting.) 

Alan sighed behind Derek, but it sounded more fond than irate. "It's easier keeping _ferrets_ out of places they don't belong."

Stiles was holding a small skull when they followed him in. He rocked back and forth on his feet in front of a bookshelf half filled with--

Derek hadn't seen that, before. It was only half books. There were statues and jars of sand or liquid acting as bookends, and an assortment of bones, stones and ceramics lined up in the open spaces.

That was odd.

"Undoubtedly, you will have one of these of your own soon," Alan sighed, suddenly _there_ and plucking the skull out of Stiles' hands, ducking away from his automatic flail with an ease that suggested exposure, if not practice. Stiles glowered at him but tucked his hands into his pockets and backed away from the shelf, stilling abruptly when Alan asked, "What book caught your eye?"

The air in the room felt heavy for a moment, before Stiles reached up and tapped a faded orange spine. The tension broke and Alan pulled the book down, gesturing Stiles back toward his desk with it. "Have a seat. We have a lot to discuss."

Alan kept the book, setting it on the short filing cabinet shoved under his desk, out of their immediate line of sight. "Do you have the drawings, Derek?"

Realizing he was still hovering in the doorway, Derek shook his head and walked over to take the chair next to Stiles. "My parents are bringing them. But--" He turned to Stiles. "You have my sketchbooks, right?"

"Yeah..." Stiles didn't make a move toward Derek's bag, frowning at--

Alan sighed pointedly and stood, leaning across the desk to take his notepad away from Stiles.

"Hey!" Stiles frowned, but bent to dig through Derek's bag as soon as his hands were free. Derek's phone was tossed in the general direction of his head before the sketchbooks started coming out, but Derek didn't mind. It wasn't like it was hard for him to catch.

"Do we need all of them?" Stiles shook their shared sketchbook in one hand, drawing Derek's personal sketchbook out with his other hand. "I mean, I still don't get why this is important. Sooo..."

"Whatever you've drawn in, Stiles," Alan clarified. "Or, if you'd rather draw something new?"

Stiles hesitated, thumb sliding back and forth over the edge of their sketchbook before sliding both books back into Derek's bag. "Yeah, sure. Can I..?" He gestured at Alan's notebook before grabbing a pencil.

"What interests you about this drawing?" Alan held the notebook up, with the shapes and doodles he'd made as notes earlier facing Stiles. "You seem quite fixated."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "I'm not _fixated_. It's just-- It's weird." He waved his pencil at the drawing, eyes narrowing. "That's, just, _really_ ugly. And it doesn't seem the kind of ugly that's intentional or because of a learning curve. But it feels really familiar, too? Like I've seen it before."

Alan pushed the notebook toward Stiles. "Those are my notes on what Derek told me about your relationship."

"Normally, that sort of thing is probably supposed to be confidential," Stiles muttered, frowning at the design as he pulled it closer. "But, I guess, well. Vet. Also, no words."

"Indeed. But it's possible to hide a great deal of information in a drawing, isn't it. And this makes it much harder for someone else to read." Alan leaned back in his chair, retreating into the bland facade that protected his thoughts even from werewolves. "What do you see there?"

Stiles studied the drawing, eyes darting back and forth over the page. Derek's sense of him solidified, focused and calm and curious.

The drawing was a mess of scribbles, but it was still about him, somehow. If anybody but Stiles examined it like that, there's no way he could have waited through it. No way he'd have left it in someone else's hands.

But it was Stiles, and he knew most of what they'd talked about anyway.

"This is important," Stiles finally said, tapping on a design like an infinity symbol that crossed over itself twice instead of once. "It's connected to the bond," he continued, moving his hand to tap at another line that curved down to almost touch the infinity loop then changed direction and angled straight up and away. "And some sort of turning point, I think?"

Alan hummed and stood up, leaning over and ripping the drawing out of the notebook, rolling it carefully and storing it in a drawer even while Stiles spluttered.

"What the-- Okay, look, you _asked me_ to try and--"

"That design was when you left, over the summer," Alan interrupted, voice calm but insistent. "You gave Derek a card?"

In his mind, Stiles felt--defensive. Prickly. "Yeeeeah. So?"

"Something about your relationship changed, then. And I believe it was very important, yes. But how did you know that line stood for the bond?"

Stiles shrugged, sinking a bit in his chair. "It wasn't just that line. There were a lot of short lines, interacting with different designs. I just figured that the repeating element was what you were focused on."

His heart beat stuttered, and Derek shot a look his way. He couldn't place the lie, though. 

Alan smiled. "I think there's more to it than that, but I'll leave it for the time being. You were going to draw?"

"Yeah. Right." Stiles huffed a grudging breath, twisting the notebook so the longer side was facing him. "What should I draw?"

Alan didn't answer, and Stiles' presence in Derek's head grew increasingly uncomfortable, a tight knot of defensive anger and worry. 

Derek reached across to steal Stiles' pencil. Stiles huffed again, amused and fond instead of annoyed. He went digging for another pencil while Derek pulled the notebook closer and started drawing.

He sketched in a double-crossed infinity loop, freehand but still more balanced than Alan's had been. Stiles laughed when Derek started drawing lines in down one side of the loop and started filling in the other side with dots in random sizes. "Is this even going to work?"

"It might," Derek shrugged, unconcerned.

It didn't. The stripes and polka dots met in a messy explosion of squiggles and chaos that leapt off the strip entirely. The dots turned into confetti, the stripes into streamers, and before Derek realized what they were doing, they'd filled the page with fireworks and fanfare.

Stiles turned to him with a grin, bashful pleasure swaying between them when Derek returned it.

Then Alan cleared his throat.

They both startled, turning back to Alan and shrinking in their seats a bit at his bemused smile. "Thank you. I think I have an idea of what's happened now. But..." Alan shook his head, sighing. "Derek. Where are your parents?"

Blushing, Derek shrugged and pulled his phone out. He shot a question mark at his mother and had a reply almost immediately.

_Shit! On our way._

He showed Stiles the message, smiling at the way his mate curled forward in laughter before turning to Alan to explain. "They're on their way now."

"Excellent," Alan smiled, folding his hands on the desk in a way Derek felt was ominous, though he didn't know why. "Would you mind running out and fetching some tea and coffee for everyone? There's an excellent cafe at the end of the block, and I'd like a chance to talk with Stiles one on one for a bit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The funny thing about Stiles' birthday? I was always going to have it be in early April. Thank you, MTV.
> 
> Tattoo Link: [Belly Button](http://tattr.tumblr.com/tagged/belly-button), operating in Perpignan, France. Because so many of my favorite tattoo artists just _have_ to be in France. argh.
> 
> I actually had to _entirely re-write_ this chapter in order to get it flowing right and, as such, I didn't get as much writing done over the month as I'd hoped, but I will be able to do another update next Monday. After that, we'll see. Again.
> 
> Boring personal stuff: Part of why I'm struggling right now is because I've been unemployed and actively job hunting since December. So while I technically have a lot of time available for writing, I am astonishingly depressed and miserable most of the time. It makes it hard to string long bits of text together, y'know?


	32. coffee and kittens

He didn't like Alan, he didn't like having to _leave_ Stiles with Alan, and he didn't even _like coffee_.

Stiles had just asked for raspberry in his hot chocolate.

What was his life.

The person ahead of him shuffled off to the side and the barista turned a friendly smile his way. "Hey."

"Hi," he offered lamely, casting a quick glance back up at the menu board to remind himself of their sizes. "I'm going to have four drinks. All sixteen ounces and to go."

The barista bobbed, her almost-curls bouncing crazily as her head and shoulders moved in sync while she grabbed four cups and lined them up. "Okay, what's next?"

"Mocha, dark chocolate if you have it, with cinnamon and an extra shot. Extra hot four shot non-fat latte. Raspberry hot chocolate--" Derek blinked, eyes flicking up to the board again. "Ah, shit. He didn't-- Do you know Alan Deaton?"

"No problem hon," the barista laughed, grabbing a tea bag and ripping the packaging open. It smelled of mango over the tea notes. "On a day like today, he usually gets a mango tea latte."

Derek scanned the menu board again. "It's--not just tea?" 

He could smell the chocolate and cinnamon mixing already, and the raspberry with a sweeter chocolate for Stiles' drink. They didn't block out the mango-tea or the cacophony of coffee, sweeteners, fresh produce from the back, the traces of souring milk streaking bits of the counter, just added to the noise. It made it hard to focus.

"Oh, it's not on the menu. We just make it for Dr. Deaton, and the regulars who've picked it up," the barista assured him around the steady clack of pulling shots. "It is tea. With steamed milk and a little syrup for sweetener. Coconut for mango, usually. Vanilla for Earl Grey."

Derek blinked and leaned over the counter enough to catch her eye. "I think I need to add another drink."

Her name was Erin, and she had Stiles' infectious cheer without as much spastic and sarcasm. She also had a lot more focus, carrying on a short, mostly one sided conversation about their regular non-menu items while pulling together his mother's mocha and Stiles' chocolate.

It wasn't as much fun as talking with Stiles, but it was alright. Which is why he was relaxed and leaning against the counter when the first hint of unease hit him.

Derek tuned out the honestly horrifying idea of a peanut butter mocha to focus on Stiles. The bond wasn't as solid, still able to be stretched by distance, but when he reached--

Panic white.

He was still sliding down the counter when he came back to himself. Was able to brace himself against the floor and get upright again, wave Erin off when she scurried around the counter. "I'm fine."

That was a lie. His sense of Stiles was throbbing in an unhappy mix of emotions almost as complex as the smell of a coffee shop, but even harder to parse out.

He needed to get back.

Erin frowned at him but retreated back around the counter, steaming the next pitcher of milk and doling it out quickly and efficiently into the waiting cups of mango tea. "That's the dark cinnamon mocha, raspberry chocolate, and both teas. Your latte will be up in just a minute."

She left him a strip of happy face stickers for the holes and a four-cup carrying tray, which at least gave him something to focus on other than the panic-guilt-fear gnawing at the back of his brain.

\-----

Stiles was calmer but still upset when Derek walked back into the clinic, but he wasn't in Alan's office anymore. Somewhere further back, in the realm of horrible smells.

More importantly, Derek couldn't get past the counter. It felt like the air was pushing his hand back. He couldn't even reach the customer service bell. "Hello?"

There was no answer and Derek rolled his eyes at himself. Humans. Right. "Hello?" he tried again. Louder.

"Ah, Derek," Alan said, not bothering to raise his own voice as his chair scuffed against the plastic mat under it. "Sorry, the front counter has some extra protection, just in case." Alan appeared out of the back and pushed the counter door out, and the barrier in the air vanished. 

"What was that?"

"The counter's lined with mountain ash," Alan explained, heading back to his office. "Just a deterrent to the supernatural, for the obvious entrance."

"Hmm." Derek turned that detail over in his head as he followed Alan. He'd have to try and remember to ask his parents about it, since they were obviously aware with how much time they'd spent at the counter. "What did you tell Stiles? He was upset."

Alan half turned with a faint smile that didn't seem entirely sincere. "Yes, he was. He's in one of the spare exam rooms now, playing with a litter of kittens someone left on my doorstep," he continued, heading into the office rather than taking Derek _where he wanted to go_ , which was to Stiles. "I don't have any dogs healthy enough to really distract him right now, unfortunately."

And kittens meant Derek would probably upset them if they could feel him nearby. Stiles did feel calmer, but that was the only improvement. Their bond was a throb of misery to one side of his mind, and Derek thought he might be on his way to understanding what a headache felt like, because of it.

Derek didn't try to bite back the growl he felt building in his throat as he set the coffee tray down on Alan's desk. "What did you _tell_ him?"

The loading dock door rolled open again, across the building, and Derek could hear his parents' heartbeats making their way inside, his mother's footsteps moving faster and lighter after a few moments. 

"I don't think the bond came from you, Derek." Alan said as he unloaded the tray, turning the cups until he found his own, the only blank cup outside of the one in Derek's hand. "Stiles has always had an innate magic, waiting for something to latch onto. His friend Scott is the same way, but his magic settled when he was much younger, which is normal. Stiles' never had. Until now."

Derek's mother walked in, zeroing in on the desk and the offering of coffee on it.

"Is that why you wanted the drawings?" his mother asked, sniffing out out the cinnamon in her drink and claiming it with a neat snatch before retreating back into the corner. His father came in a moment later and dropped the stack of drawings off for Alan, but visually checked the remaining cups to make sure he wasn't getting anything but coffee and milk.

Alan nodded, setting his cup aside and pulling the drawings in to examine them. "I didn't know it was Stiles at the time, but it makes sense. Most people would have settled by his age."

None of this was addressed what he needed to know. Derek inhaled slowly and leaned forward, setting his drink on the desk before he accidentally crushed it out of frustration. "Alan," he tried, keeping his voice even and calm. "I need to know why he's upset."

The look Alan turned on him was-- Sympathetic, he supposed. "Because it might mean that Stiles has accidentally magically coerced you, Derek." 

Derek felt his heart jump around a cold, painful sensation building in his chest. His parents' shock echoing along their bond didn't help. He almost missed it when Alan continued. "I need to examine the drawings to know one way or the other, but I wanted to give him a chance to respond to that possibility with a bit of privacy."

"You told him he--" Derek stood up and headed for the door, not caring about the clatter behind him as the chair fell over.

He needed to get to Stiles.

"Well that's the exact opposite of what we were worried about," his mother drawled with forced calm as the door swung shut behind him.

The back of the clinic still smelled eye-watering horrible, but it was easier to work through it with a focus. He bypassed the exam rooms and knocked on an unmarked door that had Stiles' heartbeat and a cluster of tiny blips scattered around him. "Stiles?"

And there was the hissing. And Stiles yelping and twitching as the claws came out. "Shit!"

"Sorry."

The Stiles that slipped around the edge of the door and carefully nudged a fuzzy ball of hissing grey and white hatred back with the toe of a shoe was...wrong. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked everywhere _except_ Derek. His head was lowered and his shoulders curled in loosely, like he could hide behind them.

Derek took a step forward, and Stiles took a step back. 

It felt like his heart was breaking. Both their hearts.

"Deaton told you, right?"

"He told me something," Derek snorted, stepping in again and getting Stiles' back to a wall. "I'm sure he thinks it's an option, but it's not."

There, finally, a flicker of Stiles' eyes coming up before darting to the side again. "You can't--"

"Stiles, I've been drawing you for longer than that."

That made Stiles freeze, his mouth hanging open and bright surprise echoing through their bond. "What?"

Derek sighed and rubbed his nose, wishing they could be _anywhere else_ to talk about this. But the idea of doing it in front of his parents and Alan--

His parents were inevitably listening in, but he didn't want witnesses.

"I draw _you_. All the time. It's-- At first, it was just...practice. Something to do when you were hanging out on the window bench." Derek huffed and waved a hand at Stiles' face, shoving his other hand into a pocket to get it out of the way. "You make great shadows."

"...thanks?" Stiles managed, after a moment of silent gaping. He still felt painfully off balance. Like he couldn't be certain of where the ground would be, on his next step. HIs next breath.

"I used your hands in a commission," Derek offered. "I normally think of Tony's hands or Vic's for stuff like that, but yours just felt...perfect. Then I realized I had, like, three pages of profiles and face studies and random doodles of your arms, when you gesture like you've lost track of your own body. When I'd just been trying to draw your hands."

Stiles snorted and covered his mouth and nose with a hand. He was leaning back against the wall, more relaxed now, but even better, he was looking Derek in the eye. The sour notes were leaving his scent, and the doubts were fading into amusement.

"I only started _keeping_ a personal sketchbook because it was awkward having to flip around the random doodles of you when I went over my work with Vic. I used to just have one at time, and now I have _three_ and it's all because of you," Derek stepped in again, brushing his nose against Stiles' and smiling when his breath hitched. "I've been drawing you since-- I guess not long after your birthday. Months before you started drawing in the shop."

"Not before I started drawing at home, though," Stiles muttered, but he leaned into the touch. Brushed a barely-there kiss against the edge of his mouth. "Thanks, though."

Derek angled in for another kiss, swallowing the happy hum that one of them made at the contact before taking a few steps back. "My parents are here now, and I did leave Deaton alone with the drawings. He might have answers if we go back to join them."

"Yeah," Stiles said with a smile and reached for his shoulder, pulling him back in. "In a minute."

\-----

"So, there are drawings of yours I haven't--"

"Don't ruin my moment, jerk."

\-----

Stiles' hot chocolate and the remains of Derek's tea-mango-latte-thing were guaranteed cold by the time they made their way back to Alan's office, but that really wasn't their main concern. They were both more focused on the faint but reassuring smile Alan gave them as soon as they came in. "It's not the worst case scenario."

In the background, Derek's parents were still curled together on the loveseat, almost exactly as he'd left them. David was head and shoulders in Maria's lap, and she was just putting away the book she'd spread over his back to read.

" _Thank you_ ," Stiles sighed heavily, flopping back into his seat like all his strings had been cut loose.

Alan's smile widened and he shook his head, leaning forward as his expression closed down into something more solemn. "I _am_ sorry for alarming you."

"No, I get it," Stiles waved the apology off as Derek sat, and the odd thing was that he apparently did. His heart stayed steady, and the sense of relief singing along their bond was threaded through with gratitude. Derek reached for his hand as it dropped, and Stiles just wrapped them up together as though it was normal. Something they did. "You know about--" He gestured vaguely with his free hand, but Derek had no idea what he was talking about. "So yeah. I got to have my freakout in peace and hey, there were kittens! It was for the best."

His mother straightened in her seat at the mention of kittens, prompting a growl from his father, and Derek didn't even want to think about what that meant.

Alan started gathering up the drawings into a neat stack again. "What it looks like happened is a mixture of-- Well," he smiled, shrugging. "Different types of unintentional magic."

"Alan," Derek's father protested, sounding half asleep and entirely ready to be done and home again. "Please cut to the chase."

"Stiles' magic is manifesting through his artwork. More accurately, it manifests _with_ art. He was able to read something from my notes, which I take that way specifically _because_ they should be nearly impossible for anyone else to understand." Alan sighed and took a moment to give Stiles a look that was both resigned and exasperated, and yet somehow fond.

Stiles sank further into his chair, muttering under his breath, "shouldn't use such an obvious code then."

Someone approached the clinic door, soft brushing footsteps dancing around them and a leash jangling. His mother stood up, dumping his father gracelessly on the seat in her haste to get out to the front.

"Anyway," Alan continued, straightening the stack and shifting his attention to searching his desk for--something.. "Not all of Stiles' drawings are magic, but many of them have been. Without training, it isn't anything exceptionally powerful, but they almost certainly accelerated the bond."

Derek's father twisted around in the seat until he'd found a new comfortable position. "And the other unintentional magic?"

"The pack bond itself." Alan shrugged and tied Derek's bundle off with a piece of twine that came out of who-knows-where. "I would say, based on what I know of Derek and Stiles and their histories, that they were both simply primed to bond intensely, when they did. Add in the magical encouragement, and it just--" He held his hands out, palm up in a gesture that could have conveyed helplessness, or been trying to suggest a mushroom cloud. "Exploded. For lack of a better term."

"We aren't a team," Stiles muttered, amusement bright in his scent and their bond. "We're a time bomb."

Derek reached across with his free hand to flick Stiles in the head.

"Everybody's a comedian," Derek's father groaned, pushing himself up. "But we can't quite joke about this yet." He stood and crossed over to lean against Alan's desk, leveling Stiles with a serious look. "Do you really think you're ready to be married? Because you might be able to walk away from a mate bond once it's fully formed, but you have _no idea_ the damage you'd do in the process."

Fear and guilt flickered across the bond and Stiles tried to pull his hand away. Derek held on, waiting until Stiles relaxed into the reassurance he was wrapping his mate's presence with before letting go.

Stiles inhaled slowly and met David's eyes, pepper spicing his scent. "If I'm not ready to get married, I'm _really_ not ready to get divorced, if that's what you're suggesting."

"I believe," Alan cut in, "that we should be able to keep the bond from solidifying further, without going quite that far."

The relief that washed over him was exponential: his own, Stiles', his father's, his mother's. In front of him, his father's shoulders sagged with it. "We were hoping, but--"

Alan was already nodding. "If it was just pack magic, it wouldn't be possible. But Stiles' magic was simply fueled by intent, and it developed the bond far faster than it should have. So the same magic _should_ be able to hold it in place until he's ready."

"Uh, no. Wait a minute," Stiles leaned forward, frowning. "When _I'm_ ready? What about--"

"I am."

Stiles startled and twisted around to face him, nearly falling out of the chair in the process. He didn't even seem to notice Derek's father at his back, holding him steady. "What?"

Derek shrugged and tried to convince himself he wasn't actually blushing. "I am ready. I'm just... I don't think I'm ready for you to be ready."

Fond exasperation brushed against him from two directions. His mother was, for once, more understanding than his mate or his father.

"We do tend to operate on a different scale of commitment than humans," his father admitted. "Maria mentioned that the night you stayed over, I think."

Stiles made a disbelieving face at him, but nodded. "Yeah, whatever."

That was a topic Derek knew he'd be hearing about again.

"Regardless, I think we've reached at least a temporary resolution," Alan said, bracing his hands on his desk and standing. "Stiles has agreed to train with me, at least temporarily. I think it _would_ be best if you two don't spend much time alone together, for the next few days, and particularly not spend any time drawing together." He aimed a wry look at Stiles. "Or at all, in your case."

Stiles rolled his eyes, but he was already nodding. "Yeah, I know."

Derek's father snorted and pushed off from the desk. "If we're done, we should probably deal with the fact that I believe my wife is in with the kittens."

Alan laughed, because he was a horrible person who delighted in the misery of others.

"Cats _hate us_ ," Derek hissed, slumping in his chair when Stiles snickered with a sharp spike of incredulous amusement.

His father just gave him a pitying look. "Only because you can't control yourself enough to put them at ease. Making that argument only--"

"We are definitely adopting kittens," his mother said, from across the clinic. "At least two."

Derek grimaced and hid his face in his hands while his father laughed and explained the situation for Alan and Stiles.

His life. What even.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter dedicated lovingly to [verity](http://archiveofourown.org/users/verity/pseuds/verity). <3
> 
> So...you probably have questions! That's great! I'm probably not answering them. =D I have reasons, and yes, Scott has magic too, and yes, I believe this still works within canon. All will be explained. Just not now.
> 
> I will update next Monday, and I've kind of been on the verge of happy tears a lot this last week, because of some of the amazing comments I've gotten. Y'all are a gift, and don't let anybody tell you different. <3
> 
> **Tattoo Artist of the Week:** [Leon Shitoujii](http://tattr.tumblr.com/tagged/leon-shitoujii) out of Hong Kong, because holy crap some of his stuff is lovely. A lot of very bold blacks, without being overpowering (in my opinion, anyway).


	33. kittens and conversation

Stiles laughed, crouched down and leaning over to look under the cabinet he was leaning against, and apparently oblivious to the way his shirts were riding up in back. "Yeah, Mrs. Hale's apparently friends with Dr. Deaton. Weird, huh?"

Scott snorted, dangling some feathers on a string to try and tempt one of the soon-to-be members of Derek's family out from behind the cabinet. Because of course his mother's favorite out of the litter was mischievous and adventurous, and had managed to eel out of the exam room.

And of course, hiding kitten just meant 'training exercise' to his mother. Derek slumped further against the doorjamb he'd chosen for his lurking and tried to figure out how to feel like 'pack' rather than 'predator' to a tiny feline brain. 

"Yeah, maybe. But it's good he had someone to call who knows that they're doing," Scott said, letting the string fall still and just twisting it with the feathers brushing the floor, now. "These guys are too young to be on their own, so they're gonna take a lot of care. I mean, they're old enough that they can poop on their own," Scott continued cheerfully, not paying any attention to Stiles' horrified grimace-flail-lurch combo, "and they can eat out of bowls okay, but only three of them are on solid food so far."

Scott grinned over at Derek, nearly missing the white paw that finally appeared around the edge of the cabinet. Stiles poked Scott's shoulder to draw his attention back, and Scott let the kitten try to bat at the toy ('try' being an operative word) a few times before pulling it away just a little. 

Down the hall, his mother left Alan's office and headed down their way. She felt excited, but that feeling had been a steady and slowly growing thing since she'd heard the word 'kittens', so that didn't tell him much.

The kitten half-pounced, half-fell out from behind the counter in a flurry of white and grey limbs, and Scott tucked it up easily in one hand. "There we go. Kitten rescued!"

The kitten mewed, somehow managing to sound disgruntled, and tried to wriggle free. Derek strongly doubted the kitten thought it needed rescuing.

"My hero," Stiles drawled, one hundred percent sarcasm, even as he claimed the toy and held the feathery end up to catch the kitten's attention again.

"And mine," Derek's mother chirped, quirking an eyebrow at Derek's position as far away from the kitten as possible while in the same room before grinning at Scott. "Thanks for getting her out of there while Alan and I hashed out the details."

"No problem," Scott beamed, holding the kitten out like an offering. A suddenly content, purring offering.

Derek narrowed his eyes at the kitten. _How_ was his mother was doing that?

Maria scooped the kitten up, nuzzled her face into its--her--shoulder, and promptedly handed her over to Stiles, who nearly fumbled the kitten onto the floor and back into the welcoming embrace of behind-the-counter.

"Sorry," his mother said, flashing Stiles a mischievous smile. "David and I are going to head out and pick up some extra supplies. Would you two be alright driving the kittens home once Alan has everything squared away here?"

"You're taking them _today_?" Scott blurted, expression falling comically before he realized what he'd said and tried to backtrack. "I mean--"

His mother ruffled Scott's hair, smiling at him like he'd just performed a trick. "You'll see them again soon. They're going to need shots, and we'll have them in to get fixed as soon as it's possible. Besides," she added. "You're a friend of Stiles', right? You two can come over and visit."

Kittens apparently weren't the only thing his mother was adopting. But... "I thought we were just taking a few of the kittens." Derek could feel himself frowning, even as his mother shot a pointed look his way. Maybe he'd been supposed to be listening in while his parents talked with Alan, but he'd been a little distracted by trying not to freak out the fluffy ball of instinct. 

"It's better to not break the litter up, so we're taking all five of them for now," his mother said. "We might only be _keeping_ two of them, but we'll be taking care of the whole lot until they've figured out how to be cats and are old enough to be adopted." She shrugged. "Assuming we can give them up."

Stiles snorted, quickly looking away when Derek glanced his direction. He felt amused. More amused than the situation warranted.

"Right," Derek offered, resigned. "Of course."

Five tiny kittens, two babies, two five year old werewolves and one five year old who might as well be.

This was a _brilliant_ plan.

"You're sure it's okay if I come over?" Scott glanced helplessly from Maria to the kitten and back again, guilty hope practically radiating off of him.

"Sure," Derek's mother agreed with a grin and a faintly smug feeling. Because she was horrible. "In fact, we're having Stiles and his father over to dinner tomorrow. You can come too, if you're free."

Scott's face lit up. Stiles grinned too, but he _felt_ confused.

\-----

Five kittens and a werewolf are stuck in a Jeep.

It sounded like a joke. Derek just wished the punchline wasn't so _loud_.

"Oh my god," Stiles muttered, for the third time since they'd left the vet. "Don't they need to _breathe_ or something?"

The steady chorus of mewls and mrowing from the carrier in the backseat suggested that no, no they didn't. Derek just sighed and kept his eyes closed, trying to push his irritation down and feel _some_ sort of connection with the kittens. 

The kittens lowered their volume.

It lasted just long enough for Derek to feel hopeful, before they picked up again with even more fervor than before.

No wonder his parents and Alan let Stiles drive him home, even though they weren't supposed to be alone together for a while. They _weren't_.

\-----

"Okay, I can't take this anymore," Stiles sighed, and pulled the Jeep over, throwing his four-ways and the brake on. "Roll the window down about halfway before you get out."

Derek shot a glance at Stiles before doing as he said and eyeing their surroundings. They were on a road bordering the preserve, so he could run home easily enough from--

He was still thinking about that when Stiles hopped out of the Jeep and walked around to his side, taking a few steps toward the trees before turning around halfway to look expectantly back at Derek.

 _Oh_.

Derek grinned and followed, hooking his fingers into Stiles' pockets once he got close enough. Stiles grinned back, relaxing and feeling--just _happy_. Derek still couldn't pick out the scent of it, his nose still recovering from the adjustment the clinic had taken, but he knew it would be there.

The mewling protests wound down to a halt, and Derek kept Stiles from continuing his backward amble. "They've stopped."

Stiles glanced past Derek, lip twisting up in a wry smirk. "So you can piss off cats up to a range of about twenty feet."

"With a car door in the way," Derek added, amused. "I was able to get a lot closer with a wooden one."

Stiles hummed, stepping closer absently. It could have been provocative, but this close Derek could _feel_ the buzz of Stiles' brain working. He leaned in and nuzzled into Stiles' hair, seeking out his scent and waiting for him to talk.

"Your mom is, like, a cat whisperer," Stiles started. "So we know that's possible. You were right outside the door when you upset them the first time, and even then it wasn't a problem until you talked. Did your parents give you any pointers, or advice, or...anything?"

Derek sighed, pulling back grudgingly. "Dad said I should try to make the kittens sense me more like pack than a predator. Cats are _all_ predators, though, and they don't form packs. I don't understand how that's supposed to work."

"Well, your dad was probably using language for what you feel, not what the cats would actually feel. Right?" Stiles rocked back on his heels, staring into the distance and apparently trusting Derek to keep him balanced. "Like, what does predator mean to you? How do you know you're dealing with a predator?"

"The way they focus," Derek started, trying to wrap his brain around words instead of the shapes twisting into place behind his eyes. "A predator knows it's capable of doing harm. Even if it's not trying to threaten me, there's the potential for a threat to be made, all the time."

That was usually his experience with cats, actually. They were excellent hunters and, even thoroughly outclassed, they always seemed to have an eye on how to attack, in case they needed to.

"Your grandmother's capable of doing harm," Stiles snorted, sounding and feeling amused. "Like, stupid amounts of harm, judging by how everybody reacts to her. And she's pretty damn intense. So--what's the difference?"

Grandmother Hale was intense. She was what his mother called 'healthily paranoid', could be vicious, and was still one of the best and most capable fighters in the family. But--

"...I'm not supposed to feel safe, I'm supposed to feel like I'd fuck everybody _else_ up to protect them?"

He sounded incredulous, even to himself. Stiles just shrugged, grinning. "Works pretty well with me."

Derek snorted and pulled his hands away from Stiles' hips, letting Stiles flail back as he tried to correct his balance. "Whatever you say, kitten. Shall we head back and try again?"

"Very funny," Stiles muttered. Derek shot him a grin and turned back to the car, but Stiles caught up with him after just a few steps and pulled him to a stop again. "Wait, I wanted to ask something before we get in hearing range of your house, and I don't want to bet on our backseat chorus staying calm."

He hummed inquisitively and leaned back against Stiles, enjoying his warmth, and the strength hinted at when he just braced his feet and let Derek lean. 

"Just..." Stiles trailed off, feeling conflicted and frustrated, before bursting out with, "how exactly do you guys keep the werewolf thing a secret?" 

Derek laughed, and Stiles pushed him away. He stumbled a few steps, out of habit. "I'm serious! I mean, you meant to tell me anyway, so whatever with that. And you guys are having my dad over so your family can get to know him before letting him in on the secret, I get that. But Gwen freaks out sometimes and goes wolfy at people! Having her around my dad is just _asking_ for the beans to get spilled unexpectedly! And now Scott might be coming too, and I don't even know if I can tell him or not, and--"

Derek turned around and pressed the knuckles of his first two fingers against Stiles' mouth. Unsurprisingly, Stiles bit him and glared over his hand.

"I don't know what happened with Grandma," Derek started, keeping his voice calm. "I know that Dad's parents were told about the pack, or at least one of them. One of his grandparents or great-grandparents had been a human that left their pack, so they had some context for it. He left them, though, and didn't have a lot of friends." Stiles hummed against his fingers but the bite had gentled, turning into thoughtful-gnawing.

"Vic was one of the first people Cara met when she moved here. She keeps in contact with her family and visits them, but they aren't close enough physically to need to be brought in, and Cara doesn't seem to mind smudging the truth a bit, for them. Dominique was new to the area too, and I haven't heard her talk about her family at all. I'm sure Paul or one of the other adults knows what's going on there, but." He shrugged.

Stiles snorted and pulled away from Derek's hand, snagging it to hold against his chest instead. "You realize that _you're_ an adult, right?"

"I didn't grow up that way," Derek admitted easily, smiling when Stiles laughed again. "Your situation's most like Tania's. She grew up here, her family's here, all of her friends from her pre-college years are here. I'm pretty sure her Facebook contacts rival the phone book listings for Beacon Hills."

That earned another snort from Stiles, and a mutter about phone books being outdated anyway. Derek ignored him. "Tania decided not to tell her parents, even though she hates lying to them, because she thinks it would just frighten them. She did tell her brother. He took it okay, but only came out to see us once after that. He moved down to San Francisco, and when Tania wants to see him, she goes to see him there. As far as I know, he's doing his best to ignore the fact that we exist."

Stiles frowned, swaying a little in place. "Well. That sucks."

"It just is," Derek shrugged. "Tania told two of her closest friends about us, too. They were both fine. One of them got married and moved away, but they keep in touch by e-mail and she still asks after the family, apparently."

"What about the other one?"

Derek ducked his head and grinned. "Flora. She gave us a huge discount on the flowers for Paul and Niq's wedding, as well as Tania's, and always sends us a box of cookies and a ton of holly for Christmas."

There was a wave of incredulous humor from Stiles, even before he choked on a laugh. "Wait. Flora's Floral Secrets? That flower shop down the street from Tinge that has a huge--"

"FFS in the window," Derek nodded. "Yup. And yes, she knows what it stands for. According to Tania, it's practically Flora's motto while she works."

"Oh my god," Stiles slumped against Derek's shoulder, giving in to the laughter for a moment. "I knew I liked her. Or, who I assume is her. It's always the same lady when I go in, for--"

Stiles cut off over a stab of old but pointed grief, and Derek rubbed his back. "Yeah."

"Yeah," he sighed. "But, yeah. She's hilarious, and she gives me a discount."

Derek hummed in happy expectation, and felt Stiles go alert in response. "Probably her not-an-asshole discount. She knocks the price down to what she _would_ charge everybody, if most of them didn't make her life miserable."

"Oh my god," Stiles breathed, giddy delight thrumming through their bond. "I adore that woman."

"Can we head back to the car now?"

"Let me recover, jerk. You've rearranged my worldview."

"With flowers?" Derek snarked, grinning when Stiles poked his side in response. It did get Stiles to stand up straight in order to glare at him, though. "But seriously. Werewolves wasn't enough?"

"It's your fault I know about magic too," Stiles pointed out. "So really, that's twice just _today_. You should be more sympathetic."

"Hmm. Nah," Derek smirked and stepped away again, idly moving toward the Jeep again.

"Would it be okay if I talked to Flora, then?" Stiles asked, trailing after Derek and shoving his hands into his pockets. "About the werewolf thing, I mean."

"Yeah, just be careful."

Stiles' answering grin was brilliant. "Cool. And you're talking within ten feet of the Jeep, now. I think you're doing better with the kittens."

He'd forgotten about the kittens, actually.

It turned out, kittens that had conked out in a complicated tangle of limbs and fur didn't care as much about riding in a car with a werewolf.

They didn't talk, not wanting to risk waking up the chorus again, but it was remarkably comfortable just coasting by on the vague push and pull of contentment and affection between them. It gave Derek time to think about the cats, and the safety of having a predator as family, rather than lying about being harmless to be a friend.

It didn't feel like that should be very hard. They _were_ cute, as well as tiny and mostly useless at protecting themselves, so far. It was even worse when they were sleeping: curled and lumped together, finding comfort in touch and family. Just like his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FFS = for fuck's sake. Flora doesn't actually tell her customers this, she just thinks it a lot.
> 
> I am not an expert on kittens, but let me address a few things. These kittens are somewhere in the range of five to seven weeks old and they were left at Deaton's with no information and no mother to take care of them. We'll learn more about what they look like next week, but if you just want an idea of size and shape, you can check out [these](http://www.love-and-hisses.com/?cat=103&paged=29) [posts](http://www.love-and-hisses.com/?p=6263) at [Love and Hisses](http://www.love-and-hisses.com/) (a fantastic blog full of adorable pictures, cat fostering, and hilarity) for a general idea. (If the pictures on a linked post are of kittens with their eyes still closed, I mean the _other set_ of kitten pictures.)
> 
> I would also like to explain briefly that I had not been expecting the kittens, but I kind of needed them. So while the kittens actually are ending up being important, my pacing is a little off through this section and I'm sorry for that. Most people commenting don't mind the pace, and I doubt anyone is going to _complain_ about kittens, but for those of you who are rightfully and quietly unhappy with the pacing (it is very uneven and occasionally drags), I'm sorry.
> 
> I'm not sorry about the kittens though, because they've made me ridiculously happy and have made positive changes in the story development.
> 
>  **Tattoo Artist of the Week:** [Jamie Kam](http://tattrx.tumblr.com/tagged/jamie-kam) out of [Tattoo Temple](http://tattootemple.hk/) in Hong Kong. He does some amazing things with stark blacks, bright colors, and positive/negative space. (The other artists currently featured on Tattoo Temple's site are also very good, and are a bit less abstract.)
> 
>  
> 
> There will be an Indelible Marks update on June 10th. It will _not_ hurt.


	34. still not an exhibitionist

The miracle of silent, sleeping kittens lasted almost until the Jeep was parked. 

Derek was still twisted around to watch the kittens sleep and saw the first flicker of twitches shuddering through the visible paws and ears. Then eyes were opening on yawns and grumpy mews as the pile of fur slowly wiggled itself apart into five distinct and protesting kittens.

He frowned. "I thought I was--"

" _You_ were," Stiles cut him off with a spike of amusement, throwing the brake on and turning the engine off. 

Derek could hear it now. Jacob's feet and Jacob's heart, raised to an excited thrum, with Tania swooping in behind him. By the time he'd turned around, Tania had Jacob caught up over her shoulder, still at least twenty feet out.

That was worth thinking about. Later, when the yowling in the backseat weren't reaching a pitch that was made Stiles wince and flee the vehicle.

"Sorry," Tania called over, walking Jacob back to the house. "We weren't expecting him to be excited enough to make a break for it."

Somehow, Derek didn't think that was all there was to the story. Not with the way she kept darting glances at the back of the Jeep. It wasn't worth fighting over, though. "No problem. It'd probably be best if Mom was out here to help bring the kittens in, though. I don't think they'll be able to calm down otherwise."

"Hush, you," his mother muttered from inside. "These things are such a _pain_ to assemble. I'll be down in a moment."

A moment turned into a minute turned into three turned into more, but Derek had a hard time caring. They'd pulled out the carry case and the supplies Alan had sent with them to sit on the grass and the kittens were calmer with the distraction of new smells and vegetation poking into their tiny world.

And besides that, he had a Stiles who was perfectly content to lean back against his chest and let him cuddle while they waited.

Nothing to complain about, really.

\-----

The 'things' his mother had been dealing with turned out to be baby gates. For the moment there was just one, blocking the door to the ground floor guest room nobody ever used. The kittens' room, now.

Of course, that made fitting everyone inside a bit...interesting.

Derek set the litterbox in the corner behind his mother's spot on the carpet and glanced around before taking a position next to the closet. The terrors, well accustomed to sitting on the ground, had plopped themselves in front of the bed without hesitation. Matt had claimed the foot of the bed for himself, while his parents and Greg took the upper end. With the way they were arranged, Peter's feet tucked neatly behind Matt's back and he was within arm's reach of his mother for a hair ruffling, if necessary, but he had some space to himself.

"Niq," Peter drawled, all languid amusement. "Why are you getting up on the dresser?"

Dominique ignored him until she was secure enough on her perch to glare over at Peter and thrust a foot out. As if anybody in the family could have forgotten about her slippers. "I'm not playing keep-away with kittens."

"You could just take them off," Tania suggested, tucking her head down to hide a smile in Gregory's hair and leaning back into Peter where he'd stretched out behind them.

"My feet would get cold," Niq sniffed, brushing her hair back over her shoulders before holding her hands out toward Tania. "Pillow me?"

Tania tossed a pillow over while Derek's mother shook her head. "You could put on socks instead."

"Blasphemy," Derek intoned, perfectly in time with Niq and Peter.

Dominique had worn her real-bunny bunny slippers straight through the summer, whenever she wasn't dressed for work. She was hardly going to stop just because of some kittens.

Stiles snorted from the far side of the baby gate, settling off a chorus of unhappy mrowling as it jostled the carrier. "Okay, in-jokes aside, can we come in yet?"

Derek's mother waved him in and settled herself in the open space next to the litterbox. "Yeah, we're just about set. Laura?"

"Yeah, yeah, on my way," came the answer from the kitchen. Then, as she moved closer and was able to raise her voice for the humans in the room, "Cara and Vic can't make it right now, but they said they'll be here for dinner."

Stiles carefully maneuvered himself and the kittens past the baby gate and set the carrier next to Maria. Putting him just--close--enough--to--

Derek snagged a belt loop and gave him a gentle tug, reaching up to steady Stiles when he lost his balance and hauling him carefully into his own lap.

"I'm sensing a theme in the seating arrangements, around here," Stiles groused as Derek nuzzled into his neck, but it didn't sound entirely sincere.

Besides, it wasn't like there were any non-floor options left. He was just being hospitable.

"Good enough," his mother replied to Laura, tearing her attention away from grinning at Derek and Stiles. "Neither of them are werewolves, anyway. Are we ready to start?"

"Define 'ready'," Peter muttered, keeping a wary eye on the carrier. He felt prickly. Agitated and distrustful. Which--they were _kittens_. Each one weighed less than a _pound_.

"Uh, aren't we missing a few people?" Stiles asked, hunching back against Derek when Maria turned toward them. "Well, I mean, your husband? And Niq's husband, and isn't there another baby? And--"

Niq clapped a hand over her mouth, snorting and shaking her head.

"David's _asleep_ ," Derek's mother explained, shooting a mild glare at Niq. "I think Erin is too. That would be the other baby."

"And Paul and Olivia are patrolling," Derek added, as Niq nodded in confirmation, saying "Yeah, Erin went down for a nap. _Finally_."

" _Anyway_ ," Maria raised her voice a bit, carefully enunciating. "We're going to be taking care of these kittens for a while. Now, everybody's already at least learned how not to terrify Paul's rabbits into keeling over," she started, then smirked when Stiles' hand shot up. "Except for Stiles, but again with the not a werewolf."

Stiles huffed and slouched more firmly against Derek's chest. He had no complaints, just buried his nose in Stiles' hair again.

"Cats aren't rabbits," his mother continued. "Rabbits are prey animals, and it's enough to simply focus on the fact that you aren't hunting them. That's enough to tell them you're not interested, so long as you don't try to interact with them. Cats, however, are _also_ hunters, and you probably will be interacting with them. It's not enough to make them think you don't want to eat them, you need to convince them that you don't mean harm."

Peter snorted and raised a hand from behind his wife, mimicking Stiles and earning a soft jab in the ribs from Tania. "Is it okay if I just _avoid_ the cats?"

"Temporarily," Maria grinned, letting her teeth flash. "But I want to keep some of them as part of the family, so you might want to get used to it."

"Avoiding sounds good," Laura grumbled, still not coming into the room. "I can do avoiding."

Derek snorted and quirked an eyebrow at his sister, smirking. "It's not like you to want to start at the back of the class, Laur."

Laura and Peter both bristled, but Tania barked a short laugh before getting her mouth covered, and Stiles was almost vibrating with amusement.

Before they could respond, Jacob put his hand up, twisting his body to push it as far as it would go and wriggling his fingers.

Maria nodded at him, and Jacob burst out "So how do we make them like us?"

"It helps if you think of them like family," his mother replied. "Like you think about Erin and Greg, even. Because they're little, but you know not to hurt them, even though you can. Right?"

Gwen was frowning seriously and nodding, but they'd had to have a _lot_ of talks with her about identifying people she needed to be careful of. It probably shouldn't have been surprising that she seemed to understand, even when Jacob was still frowning.

"Derek and I talked about that a little, on the drive over," Stiles offered, twitching like he was suppressing the urge to fidget. "It's like, objectively, your alpha's scary, right?" He glanced over at Maria with a helpless shrug. "She could hurt you really badly. Do you think she would?"

Stacia snorted, a long rude noise that she had _definitely_ picked up from her mother (and Niq knew it, judging by the way she flushed and covered her face), but Jacob and Gwen restrained themselves to disbelieving looks and emphatic head shaking.

"That's kind of how you want the kittens to think about you, I think," Stiles continued with an encouraging smile. "They're going to know you're scary and could hurt them. The trick is making sure they know you'd f-- Uh. Fight, other people. To protect them."

Derek hid his nose in his mate's neck to muffle his snort. Stiles twisted to jab an elbow back into his side.

"That's another way of thinking about it," Maria agreed, smug pride radiating out from her as though she'd picked Stiles out herself. "But it'll take time and practice, and it'll work best if you all work on your own, or with me, David, or Olivia."

"Not Paul?" Niq cut in with a sharp lift of her chin. "And how do the humans fit in with this?"

"Paul's good with animals. He's not going to need a lot of help, but he's mostly a natural at it. I'm not sure he'd be able to help someone who actually needs to think about it," Maria explained. "And having humans around _can_ help, if the _human_ knows how to interact with cats. Which leads to another important point." She focused on the terrors, expression stern. "Be _very careful_ with the kittens. Even Stacia could hurt them without meaning to. If they hide, or run away, or hiss at you? Leave them alone. Don't pull on their tails or their ears, don't hold them on their backs, or like a teddy bear. Okay?"

The terrors nodded, and twisted around when Tania cut in. "Sometimes, the best way to get a cat to come and play with you or let you pet it is to just be still and quiet near them. Like when you're doing your homework. They'll get used to you and might come over."

It wasn't hard to pick up the wistful note in Tania's voice, and Derek realized all over again that she'd grown up _human_. She might have had pet cats when she was younger. She might have _loved_ cats.

"We do have plenty of toys too, but for right now I just want to get the kittens out of the box and able to wander around," his mother said, reaching for the metal grill covering the top of the transport box. "I'm going to take them out one at a time, introduce them, and let them go. They'll probably go hide, and that's fine. Just let them. Okay?"

She didn't wait for a response, opening the cage and scooping out one of the smaller kittens, all skinny and lanky, and nearly black with just a tiny patch of white on its throat. "This is Pitch."

"You named them already?" Derek asked, trying not to laugh.

His mother shot him an arch look and dropped Pitch into Stiles' lap instead of letting it go like she'd said. "I'm the alpha."

Pitch froze, shaking and mewling in distress but pressing into Stiles' hands, as they came up instinctively to shield--it. 

Derek huffed and glared at his mother. "Their scents are all over each other. Is Pitch a boy or a girl?"

"Pitch is a boy," his mother said, almost covering up Stiles' incredulous "You can _smell gender_?"

Almost.

"Sex, actually," Peter grinned, not bothering to hide his teeth. "Gender is a social construct."

Derek felt Stiles tense up in his arms, but it wasn't-- It wasn't aimed at Peter, and it wasn't embarrassment. The tension was focused inward, not toward Peter, but the pulse across the bond was sympathetic and affectionate, more than-- 

Pitch. Pitch had gone quiet and was trying to shrink into Stiles' lap. Peter was a predator, and a threat, still focused in their direction.

Exhaling slowly, Derek unwrapped his arms from around Stiles' stomach and tucked them under Stiles' arms, adding his hands to the barrier Stiles had built between Pitch and the rest of the pack. 

He didn't think naturally in words, or in feelings. He built a wall in his head instead; bricks following the lines of bone and muscle and mortared with tendon and skin. Stiles' hands were a familiar comfort for a cat, so he let those walls be a home and made a fortress of his own.

Stiles pressed back into his chest, laughing and gleeful, as Pitch relaxed in his lap and started nosing around at the folds of Stiles' clothing. Still quiet, but _calm_ now.

Derek's mind was suddenly thrumming with surprise from most of his family and enough pride and joy from his mate and his alpha that he knew there was no hope of retaining his composure. He hid his face in his mate's neck instead.

In a rare act of mercy, his mother let him. "So that's wonderful and unexpected. But yes, that's Pitch and Pitch is a boy. And _this_ ," she said, her voice turning sweet and adoring. "This is Patch, and Patch is a girl."

He didn't even have to look up. Even if he hadn't recognized the hiss from the fuzzy white and grey demon his mother had fallen so abruptly in love with, there was only one kitten with patchy coloring in the litter.

Derek didn't think a fortress would help him with Patch. She seemed like the Laura of the litter, and would probably settle for no less than charging into battle with a Mongol horde at her back. 

Or playing with a feathery toy. One or the other.

Patch was either released or managed to get away on her own, and Derek lifted his head to watch her slink off to the side and under the dresser. She curled up there, tail tip flicking and staring out at them with wide eyes from her chosen shelter.

So that was Patch. Probably the troublemaker of the litter. (After all, his mother's tastes were fairly predictable.)

His mother was already lifting out another kitten, though. Or rather, two. They were about the same size, both striped dark grey over light with white feet, bellies, throats, and jaws. They weren't identical, but the differences were all subtle. 

They were also both _loud_. Derek had figured that the drama queen on the drive over was the kitten now known as Patch. Apparently not.

"These girls are going to be Scritch and Scratch," his mother said, raising her voice a little to be heard over the protesting yowls. She set them down, and they immediately vanished under the dresser with Patch. They didn't stay there, though. One slunk out along the wall after a moment and darted under the bed, while the other crept as close to the door as it could while remaining under cover and sniffed at Laura's feet.

Maybe Derek had been wrong about there only being _one_ troublemaker.

"I'm not expecting us to be able to tell those two apart until we get to know them," his mother continued, already pulling the last kitten out and into her lap. "And until we get to know them, I'm probably just calling them both Scritch-scratch. We can figure out which name goes with which cat later."

Laura stared down warily at the kitten investigating her toes, but choked on a laugh all the same. Tania just covered her eyes with one hand, and even Matt looked quietly judgmental (though that wasn't unusual when he thought his family was being ridiculous).

"This boy is the last kitten in the litter," his mother continued, unperturbed. "And I thought we'd call him Stitch."

Gwen squealed in delight, straightening up like a bolt but not trying to get to her feet, at least. Stitch went wide-eyed at the attention, limbs flailing as he tried to escape Maria's hold.

Stitch was the only kitten in the litter smaller than Pitch, and was a soft, muted grey on grey stripe, far less dramatic than the Scritch-Scratch twins. He also had less white than anyone except for Pitch, boasting just a rim of white around his left front paw and some paler lines around his eyes and nose.

When Maria let him go, he shot behind her and mewled in distress at the wall until Derek tugged the closet open and gave him somewhere dark to hide.

"That's all of the kittens," his mother announced, standing up to move the carrier to the corner opposite from the litterbox.

It made sense, he supposed. The box was probably the closest thing the kittens had to something that smelled like safety and family.

"This is their room for now," Maria said, dusting her ass off. "David and I will handle their care for the first few days, but everybody's going to get integrated eventually." She paused to shoot an amused glance at Laura, then Peter. "That includes playing with them, which can only be done if they're comfortable around you, feeding them, which will require being able to keep them from freaking out, and cleaning their litter boxes, which doesn't really require anything. So," she concluded, clearly delighting in the alarmed looks Laura and Peter were giving her, "consider that incentive to learn how to get along."

\-----

They ended up moving almost everyone to the floor and playing cards, ignoring the cats for the most part and letting them creep closer to sniff legs and feet before running away again. Peter escaped early on, leaving his wife muttering about his cowardice into her hand. Dominique wasn't particularly interested in playing Go-Fish with the terrors, and slipped out when her husband came back from patrolling. 

Pitch eventually climbed out of Stiles' lap and, surprisingly, turned out to be the most adventurous of the kittens when it came to meeting the pack. Maybe because he'd felt safe and protected for so long. Maybe because Peter had left, and Peter was the one who'd scared him the most. Regardless of why, Pitch was the first kitten to wander over and investigate the terrors, and actually let Gwen pet him, though he was still shy of Jacob and Stacia. 

One of the Scritch-scratch twins ended up in the middle of the game, having darted in after a card someone had dropped. She skidded through the fishing pond and froze, apparently realizing she was surrounded by werewolves before spazzing her way through the game and back under the bed.

Stacia won a round, and Stiles collapsed out of Derek's lap to sprawl on the floor, groaning dramatically to make Stacia laugh. "Okay, I give up. And I should probably head home anyway." 

Derek claimed a kiss before letting him stand up (just a peck, nowhere near enough) and didn't object when his mother pushed a half-asleep Jacob into his arms. Stiles was headed into the kitchen anyway, so he wasn't leaving yet. Derek had time to help put the terrors down for a nap.

It was easy enough that day, at least. The excitement of the kittens had tired the kids out, so it was just a matter of herding them, yawning, to their beds and out of anything that might pinch or tangle. Gwen actually fell asleep before Maria had finished getting her out of her pants.

When he was free from that, Derek sought Stiles out in the kitchen.

Not, he realized when he got there, that Stiles had been there the whole time. Because instead of the black t-shirt he'd been wearing earlier, Stiles was wearing a grey henley now. One of Derek's favorites, actually. One he _slept in_ because it was old and stretched out and worn soft. One that kept his scent through even the most aggressive washing.

Stiles shot him a sheepish grin and stepped into a hug, ducking his head to press his nose against Derek's jaw. "Hope you don't mind. Left the other one on your bed."

Fuck. Derek groaned, letting his eyes fall shut and hooking his hands around Stiles' hips to pull him closer.

Somewhere upstairs, his mother was muttering a reminder that he didn't have permission to have sex in the kitchen. Because she was a horrible, horrible person.

The scent of spice-apple-musk exploding under his nose was enough to distract him from that, though. It wasn't important. What _was_ important was the way Stiles was smiling against his throat and muttering, "I'm going to take that as a no."

"So much no," Derek agreed. 

He could have stayed there forever, he thought, with Stiles feeling like love and want and quiet comfort in his mind, and smelling the same as a bright spot that was all _his_ in the broader landscape of family-pack-home. Only he was getting hard, and Stiles was getting hard, and--no.

The negation wasn't a rejection but it was--sharp. Unexpected. 

Stiles pulled away, stepping back like he'd been burned. "What--"

Then he was frowning, his alarm pressing against Derek's shock and melting into confusion. 

Words probably would have helped, but Derek didn't have any. Instead, he reached for Stiles' hand and pulled him back in, pressed his nose into Stiles' palm. Breathed in the scent of Stiles and kitten and Stiles-and-Derek until he could calm down the jagged, jangling fear in the back of his mind.

Stiles sighed and pulled his hand free, but just to get a grip on Derek's shoulder and reel him in, tugging until Derek's nose was buried in the crook of his neck. It was just them, there, and Derek could swear his bones were melting away.

"Better," Stiles chuckled, rubbing his fingers through Derek's hair, around the base of his skull. "Okay now?"

"Yeah. Sorry."

Stiles flicked his ear. "Not needed. It was probably a good idea to stop us there anyway," he admitted, turning his head so Derek could feel the grin against his temple. "I'm _still_ not an exhibitionist."

A muffled chorus of snorts and snickers erupted all over the house, and Derek was torn between laughing, groaning, and dying of embarrassment. His _life_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update for next Monday should still be a go. <3 We'll be seeing the sheriff and Scott again soon!
> 
> Also, in case anyone didn't catch the fact that there was an aggressive naming scheme in place for the kittens, that was Pitch, Patch, Scritch, Scratch, and Stitch.
> 
> For tattoos this week, we have [Kenji Alucky](http://www.blackinkpower.com/skin/) who is _on the move_ , but I don't know where presently. They have some really gorgeous black work, though. If you'd prefer something in color, check out [Marcin Surowiec](http://tattrx.tumblr.com/tagged/marcin-surowiec), working out of Warsaw, Poland.
> 
> I might have to stop using links to the tattrx tumblr as much as I used to, as their new layout is kind of tragically flawed and for whatever reason, most of my bookmarks don't end up actually leading to the tag I want. Hopefully the link for Marcin Surowiec will work. oO


	35. gigantic cluster-fuck of happenstance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...there's a few developments here. Let me know if you think I have any tags missing, or should change the rating. Because I'm _horrible_ at figuring those out, most of the time. (I don't care if the tags are for something that happened eight or thirty four chapters ago. If I don't tag for something you think I should, please let me know!)
> 
> As a note, this chapter's a bit longer than normal, because there were a certain number of things I wanted to get into this update.

Derek followed Stiles' Jeep to the end of safe tree cover, again, and walked back. He made it halfway before he heard a familiar engine and angled toward the road.

It was Cara behind the wheel, so he stepped in next to the road and waved instead of jumping out from behind a tree.

Their Volvo drifted up and jerked to a stop before Vic leaned out the passenger side window. "Want a ride, or a race?"

"Race," he grinned, flashing a little teeth before taking off along the road, sprinting to get his speed up before he had to veer into the trees. Behind him, Cara whooped and hit the gas.

Cars were still faster than werewolves. Really, the race was Cara's competitiveness against her anxiety, but it was a good excuse for a run.

Derek beat them home, but circled around to follow them in. It was a good excuse to be right there when the doors opened.

"Why are you always picking up my mate?" Vic complained, as Derek swept Cara up (and up) into a hug to hear her happy shriek. "If you keep this up, I'm going to make you come in tomorrow after all."

Sighing, Derek let Cara down. "Rude."

"Totally rude," Cara agreed. "But anyway. Maria invested in hissing balls of evil?"

He hadn't actually said hi to Vic yet, but he could multitask.

Derek bent a bit more than he needed to, to hug Vic, and slipped down to get a good grip around her thighs when she went for his neck. "They're inside," he offered cheerfully, hauling Vic up against his shoulder and heading for the house.

" _Put me down!_ "

\-----

Cara stood outside the room and eyed the kittens as suspiciously as Laura had. Vic scrabbled in over the baby gate, grinning at Matt as he introduced them to the kittens.

He did a decent job at keeping a straight face before breaking out Stitch's name.

Vic actually managed to talk Cara and Laura into coming inside the room for a while, to sit on the temporarily-kitten-free bed and talk, while the kittens tried to figure out what to think about the werewolf in the room.

\-----

Dinner was loud and raucous and empty.

There was more biting than usual, with Vic and Cara at the table, and it wasn't worth keeping track past the first three. There was no bread, but there _was_ pasta so that was thrown instead. (Niq at Peter first, then Matt at Gwen, though that had been more laughter and play than anything. It wasn't like anybody was exactly _surprised_ most of their clothes were going to need washing, after a spaghetti night.) Conversation was loud and animated, with Olivia demanding to be filled in about the Stiles situation, a full two rounds of school updates to make sure everybody heard everything, Peter and Paul discussing the rabbits and how many of them the restaurant was going to need over the next week, and Vic nearly choking on her salad when Derek admitted not knowing about April and Stiles' birthday.

And then, of course, there was another dinner to plan.

"So who's cooking tomorrow?" Niq threw out between stealing half a meatball off Paul's plate and defending her own from Peter. "I've got that open house, so I won't be much help."

"If Derek doesn't mind assisting, we can probably get most of the prep done in the morning anyway," Peter noted, grinning when Niq realized her husband was stealing her salad while her attention was diverted and helping himself to one of her meatballs while she retaliated against Paul. "Are there any allergies, or..?"

The attention of the table swiveled toward him, but Derek was occupied cutting Jacob's spaghetti into more manageable sizes. They could wait.

"Whatever the plan is, I can help with the actual cooking, if the usual suspects are out," Olivia offered, breaking the pause. "Of course, Maria could always--"

"Nope," his mother announced, glaring at her own mother. "No, nyet, non, noh. I am not cooking. I handle the money, not the meals."

Grandmother Hale just raised an eyebrow at the outburst and waited it out. "Maria could always pick up a few pies, after her meeting tomorrow. So we wouldn't have to worry about dessert."

Maria sniffed and stabbed her salad viciously. "I don't believe for a _minute_ that that's actually what you were going to say."

"I can text Stiles about allergies," Derek interrupted, before they could get too far into a tug-of-war over parent versus alpha. Again. "But I know he's worried about his dad's health. His heart? Something about cholesterol."

Really, these weren't topics he normally had to think about.

Thankfully, Tania nodded and picked up the slack. "So lean meats. Vegetable heavy, light on eggs and dairy fat in particular." She flipped her fork around and reached across the table to poke her husband with the blunt end. "That kale and potato thing would be good. We'd just need to go light on the butter."

"I'll roast some garlic for it," Peter agreed. "It'll make the reduced fat less noticeable. Do we have the kale, or do we need to get a shopping list together?"

"There's kale," Paul said. "Plenty of tender greens still, too. No fruit, though, and the tomatoes will be going soon."

It was a familiar and comfortable routine, ideas and information passing back and forth. With Danielle and Edward off at school, he was as intensely surrounded by family as he could be.

He couldn't ignore the lingering gap in his mind, though. The faint impression of Stiles where he'd had a bright pulse for _hours_ that day. 

It felt wrong.

\-----

_Dinner tmrw. Allergies? Tanias on the heart thing._

Derek glared at the text. He probably should have gotten Stiles' e-mail address, but if he did that he'd probably have to cave and get a smart phone so he could check it more often and--

"mew?"

Blinking, Derek pulled his focus from his phone and walked back to the study doorway. He couldn't _see_ anything, but there was a tiny, agitated heart beating away from under the armchair.

"Uh. Mom? Problem."

There were _two_ tiny hearts beating in the kitten's room, _not_ five.

Derek stretched out on his side between the armchair and the door, trying to remember how to make the kitten understand he was safe. The kitten started to relax, just a bit, when his phone buzzed.

Safe. He was focusing on being _safe_ , he was--

His phone buzzed again, and according to Stitch's pale blue-green stare, he wasn't doing a great job anyway.

"Ooooh, bugger," his mother muttered from the doorway.

\-----

"Alright, new rule," Maria sighed from the bathroom she'd cornered Patch in. "The baby gates are fine _so long as someone is in the room with them_. Otherwise, keep the door shut."

Derek remembered Patch's determination to slip out of the exam room, back at the clinic. This was not going to last.

From her hiding spot in the back of the pantry, one of the Scritch-scratch twins blinked at him, but made no move to come out.

"I thought you were already accustomed to dealing with--" Peter started, only to be cut off by an extremely abbreviated snarl from his sister.

A moment later, his mother was back to sounding entirely calm. "Just at the clinic. I never brought them home. _Obviously_."

\-----

It only took forty minutes for him to escape kitten-retrieval and check on his messages.

_No shellfish. Shellfish bad_

It was the clearest and best spelled text he'd ever gotten from Stiles. Pod person? But no, it was followed by-- _Whn shld we get ther e?_

Still Stiles, then. The shellfish thing must be serious. But he'd seen Stiles and his father eating shrimp. The shrimp dumplings had, in fact, been the only part of their Chinese order they hadn't argued over or even discussed. _Shellfish = Scott? Btwn 4 & 6 is fine._

Derek had just enough time to pass the shellfish note along to Peter, brush his teeth and wash his face before the reply came through.

_Yah its not fun. SPEKING OF_

What--

His phone rang.

"Hi, Stiles," he drawled, trying not to grin into the receiver as he stepped out into the hall. Laura rolled her eyes at him over her own toothbrush, before the door swung closed on her.

"Hi. And shut up with the judging," Stiles griped, "I had a question and texting is evil."

"Shoot."

Stiles sighed and went quiet. There was a tapping in the background as Derek slipped into his room. Agitated fingers against something. His thigh, maybe. (Derek had to pull his brain back from thinking too much about that.) "Okay, so Scott's sometimes not the brightest. Usually just when it comes to Allison and History. You've gotten that by now, right?"

"He had a date tomorrow, didn't he."

"You're a genius," Stiles declared, dry enough to make jerky with. "I told him your mom wouldn't suddenly hate him if he wasn't able to show tomorrow, and that you guys might not even mind if he brought her along, so long as he asked first, but he thinks that'd be rude." There was a pause, then a scuffle of fabric. "Which, yeah, maybe. But I'm asking anyway. Her best friend talked them into another double date, and I _know_ they're kind of hoping for an excuse to get out of it, because those have always been kind of horrible, and--"

"Stiles," Derek cut in, trying not to laugh. "I'll ask, but I doubt it'll be a problem. We'll already be on good behavior because of your dad, and feeding one extra teenager isn't exactly a hardship."

He pressed the phone against his shoulder, muffling the receiver without blocking the speaker, and listened to the house. Olivia was out on patrol already and his dad was still asleep, but his mother and Peter were both up on the third floor. "Can we handle another human guest tomorrow?" he asked, pitching it to be heard and continuing when he could feel their focus turning toward him. "Scott's girlfriend, he forgot he had a date."

"Should be fine," from his mother. "Do we know who she is?"  
Overlapped with, "Check for allergies," from Peter.  
While against his shoulder, Stiles said "See, that's exactly what I told Scott!" 

"Not really. Her name's Allison, but that's all I know," Derek answered his mother, before pulling the phone back up to his ear.

Stiles was still talking. "And, I mean, yeah. Probably rude to just assume, but that's the whole reason why _asking_ exists, right? Only, okay, not _really_ , but--"

"It's fine, Stiles." He was going to get through this call without laughing at his ma--boyfriend. He was. "Scott can bring her along, but the cooks would like to know about food issues for her too."

"Cool," Stiles was practically beaming through the receiver. "I'll ask Scott. Thanks."

"No problem," he replied, sitting on his bed and reaching for the shirt Stiles left him. "I hope you realize, though, that they're kind of going to be on a double date anyway."

Derek reveled in the long silence over the phone, bringing the shirt up to his face and nuzzling into it while he waited.

"Oh my god," Stiles finally moaned. "I'm not sure if that's the best or the _worst_. I don't want to go on a date with Scott!"

"I can't tell you how happy I am to hear that."

Stiles made a thick noise of protest somewhere in his chest, and Derek set the phone and the shirt aside so he could change for bed.

"He's like my brother," Stiles continued after a moment, voice hovering somewhere between shocked and disturbed. "Only I think I might be more okay with dating my brother. Or-- You know. If I had one. He's just-- _Scott_. That's-- Oh wow, so wrong."

Derek bit his lip and tossed his shirt into the hamper by the closet before shucking out of his jeans.

"I mean. I'm not actually dating Scott if we're on a double date, right? 'Cause I only want to date you, and I'm pretty sure that would mean that Scott had been dating _Jackson_ and _oh my god_." Stiles groaned and there was a loud fump in the background. A body landing on a mattress at close proximity. "So wrong. So, so wrong."

Derek picked the phone up again and stretched out across his bed. "I promise, you and Scott aren't dating if you go on a double date," he said, trying (and probably failing) to keep his amusement under wraps. Thankfully Stiles wasn't close enough to _feel_ it. "Also, it's a double date with _most of my family_ present, so it's not like it's a very risque date anyway."

"Okay, yeah, true." Stiles exhaled slowly. "That might be, uh, a thing to try, though? Doubling with Scott and Allison, I mean. Not whole dates, but--"

He cut off, but didn't sound finished so Derek stayed quiet, giving him room.

"I actually _like_ Allison," Stiles said, finally. "Like, she's awesome. It's fun hanging with her, and she's got a great sense of humor and she totally _kills_ at first person shooters. You wouldn't _believe_ it, it's crazy."

Derek nodded along, as though Stiles could see him. It was his usual response for when Laura started talking about exhaust systems or something else cryptic and unknown to him. It seemed to apply to Stiles too.

"So Allison's awesome, and Scott's awesome. Obviously. It's just, when you put them together--"

The distance didn't matter. He might not have been able to feel the twist of bitter loneliness, but he could hear it under Stiles' words. He remembered what it had smelled like. "I get it."

"Yeah."

"We'll see how it goes tomorrow," Derek said after another moment. "I wouldn't mind that, though. It's probably the closest we're going to get to normal dates until Alan gives us the okay anyway."

"Shit," Stiles hissed before groaning and, from the sound of it, hitting his mattress with a fist. "I forgot about that."

"We'll talk tomorrow," Derek promised. "We can go for a walk if we need to."

"Yea-- Hey," Stiles switched track abruptly, practically interrupting himself. "You think running together counts as being alone? I mean. I'm pretty sure I'd spend most of the time _wheezing_ , so..."

"Ask Alan," Derek laughed. "In the meantime, get some sleep."

Stiles made a rude noise. "As if. I've got a busy night planned."

"Oh?"

He should have known not to ask, with the mischievous note in Stiles' voice. "Yeah. I want to get a quest or two done before I get ready for bed, then I figure I'll spend a while thinking about this afternoon in the kitchen, and that time you took your shirt off for me."

The words just flowed out, so matter of fact and playful that it took a moment for his brain to catch up with what he'd actually _said_.

Derek knew Stiles thought about him. Dreamed about him. But fuck. 

He tried to bite back a groan, mostly failed, and Stiles continued with a pleased hum. "Oh man. And that time we parked in your yard. I'll think about it for _quite_ a while. A nice loooong--"

"You're evil," Derek managed to grit out, bringing a hand up to cover his face, even though there was no way Stiles could see the way he was flushing. 

There was nothing stopping him from hearing the way Derek's breathing had gone fast and tight, though. (At least he couldn't hear Derek's pulse.)

"Yup," Stiles confirmed, unrepentant and gleeful. 

In her room, Laura sighed gustily. "I _just_ brushed my teeth. I don't _really_ need hot chocolate. You know that, right?"

She turned on her radio, got up and went downstairs to make some anyway. He tried not to feel too grateful.

Mostly, he really didn't want to be thinking about his sister at all.

There was another scuff over the phone and Stiles had his _full_ attention again. The noise repeated and Derek let his eyes fall closed. Fabric and skin. Rubbing.

"I might skip the questing, though," Stiles continued, breath hitching. "Not sure I could focus on it, now."

"We should get off--" Derek started, shivering and fisting his free hand in his quilt when Stiles choked out a sound somewhere between a groan and laughter. "Get _off the phone_. Jesus, Stiles."

"I know," Stiles moaned, half apology and half pure sex. "Sorry, I didn't... I really did just mean to call about the other thing. But--"

Stiles' breath caught again, and his heart wasn't calming down in the slightest. And there was that rub again. With an added scratch.

It was easy to picture that. Stiles rubbing himself through his jeans, scraping over the fabric with blunt, bitten down nails.

"I'll be thinking about you too," Derek said, because there was no way he was letting this be a one-way exchange. "That night I had dinner at your place. The way you looked at me after I'd changed. The way you'd _smelled_."

There was a whine from Stiles' end, and _that_ was the unmistakable sound of a zipper.

Derek smiled to himself and let his free hand slide down to palm himself. Finally. Decided to be a bit evil. Admitted softly "The way you sounded in the shower."

Stiles inhaled so sharply it sounded almost painful, but the whimper that followed it was anything but pained. "Fuuuuu-"

"Language," Derek chided, half reflex. "Sleep well, Stiles."

Stiles made a noise that might have been anything from betrayal to a mangled goodnight, and Derek ended the call. Pushed his phone out of the way and pulled the new Stiles-shirt back over his face.

Let himself remember.

\-----

He slept _great_ , though.

\-----

When he woke up, it was to chaos.

There was food prep and various odd and overlapping work schedules and werewolf children to tire out and human kids to occupy and kittens to feed, groceries to buy, arguments over recipes, a kitten to retrieve from halfway up the stairs, more groceries to buy, more food to prep, a kitten to retrieve from the downstairs bathroom, a roast put in the oven too early and potatoes put in too late, a kitten to retrieve from a _bookshelf_ and forget how it had gotten out of the room, _how had it gotten onto the third shelf_?

It was a flat out relief when Derek heard the Jeep approaching at half after four, and was pushed toward the door with Erin in one arm and a beer in the other.

"Here," his father sighed, ducking out of an argument about whether or not they were _sure_ it was too cold to eat outside. "Go make sure the sheriff doesn't notice how crazy we are."

"Wha--"

"It's called a distraction," his dad grinned, turning back to intervene (again) between his wife and mother-in-law. "Babies and beer sounds like a good bet for this particular sheriff."

Derek wasn't going to argue against an excuse to get out of the house.

Stiles drove up to the spot they'd left open next to the house, but was squinting suspiciously at Derek through the windshield as he parked. "What--"

Derek offered John the beer first as he stepped out, earning a warm, smug smile.

"Seriously?" Stiles griped, rolling his eyes before falling out and practically jogging around the car. "This is totally why you wanted me to drive, isn't it."

John shrugged, moving politely out of the way so Scott and his girlfriend could clamber out before tipping the beer back for a long swallow. "Yup."

"The baby's for you too," Derek added, trying to bite back a smile when Stiles glared at him. "This is Erin."

John accepted Erin carefully, tucking the beer bottle around her expertly until he'd gotten her settled against his chest, grinning down at her and not flinching when her answering smile came with a snot bubble nearly the size of her fist. "Hello, Erin."

Stiles sighed. "Okay, fine, so you guys are totally geniuses at getting on my dad's good side. I see how this works."

Behind John, a girl with dark, sort-of curly hair slipped out of the Jeep with unexpected grace. Allison, apparently, and Derek wasn't at all surprised to realize she looked familiar. Stiles had drawn her before.

Scott followed right after her, falling out with far less grace, but Allison was already waiting to steady him and they were both laughing, so it apparently worked for him.

"Hi," Derek offered a wave toward the other teenagers and sidled toward Stiles, not entirely certain how introductions were supposed to go.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Guys, this is Derek. Derek, Scott and Allison. Not that any of you probably couldn't figure that out on your own."

"I couldn't," Allison piped up with an innocent, open expression at odds with the tick in her heartbeat. "I was totally expecting a random model to greet us with a baby for your dad."

He liked her already.

"We might as well wait on introductions until we can entirely bury our guests in them," his mother called from the porch, just coming down the stairs and into view. "We'll want the excuse for _Fuck_."

Inside the house, Tania snapped " _Language_ " soft enough that the humans wouldn't be able to hear, but Derek's attention was entirely on his mother. How fast her expression had gone tense, how pale she was, the frisson of fear and shock vibrating along pack bonds suddenly pulled taught.

Their guests were staring too, but it still took a moment for Maria to force a smile again and step forward. "Oh, wow, sorry. I just-- I wasn't--" She exhaled fast and sharp, not taking her eyes off of them. "I'm sorry. I just had a bit of a shock. Please just forget I was ever here."

Then she turned around and vanished back up the porch stairs.

Stiles was staring after her with his mouth gaping open, Scott and Allison had huddled against each other with confused frowns, and the sheriff's expression was carefully blank as he took another sip of his beer. Derek had no idea what his own face was doing. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

But then his mother was past the wall, whispering, "Allison _Argent_. That's Victoria and Chris' daughter," and the bottom dropped out of his stomach, leaving something cold and empty in its place.

An Argent at their house. Again. Because of him. _Again_.

He had no idea what his face was doing, but he could feel a sudden spike of concern and alarm from Stiles. Could see the way Stiles' attention was suddenly entirely focused on his face, the way he stepped in close to press their arms together.

"I'll call her parents," his mother continued in the background "Paul, David, run a close patrol _now_. Peter, get out there and say she looks like Aunt Grace or _something_ because I'm pretty sure I just made myself look more than a little crazy."

"It's not a lie," Olivia noted softly from a second floor window as the rest of the pack quickly shuffled into new roles. "She _does_ look a little like Grace."

Derek turned a weak smile toward Stiles as Peter came running out, an appropriate amount of apologetic alarm on his face and Tania trailing after with a worried frown.

They'd had peace with the Argents for nearly seven years, now. Their treaty had been for _everyone's_ benefit, and it was hard to believe the Argents would turn on them now. To the best of his knowledge, Allison hadn't even asked to come. Hadn't known it was an option. _Might not have even known who Stiles was dating_ , since Scott hadn't known.

It was probably an accident, Derek told himself, while Peter apologized and tried to explain a lie, what sounded like miles away. A gigantic cluster-fuck of happenstance. 

He didn't _believe_ it. But he tried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not sorry. ;)
> 
> Update next Monday? The magic 8-ball says: Outlook Good.
> 
> To answer the question I am most likely going to be asked (and for good reason!), Grace is a real family member, but no, I'm not expecting you to recognize her. This is the first time her name has come up, and her name isn't on the [family tree](http://archiveofourown.org/works/569745/chapters/1020229) (this links to the spoiler version, but if you've read up to this point there's only one remaining family-story hinted at that I haven't addressed, and you won't be able to guess it from the tree. it doesn't have anything to do with Stiles, though) as it wasn't settled at the time I made those graphics. She is Maria's aunt, her father's only sister.
> 
>  **Tattoo Artist of the Week:** Let's hear it for [Cody Eich](http://codyeich.tumblr.com/) out of [Studio 13](http://s13tattoo.com/) in Fort Wayne, Indiana.


	36. we should talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Probably no update next week.** For personal reasons, I am giving myself next Monday off. Updates will continue as normal July 8. (It's possible I'll change my mind and will update, but I don't want to disappoint anyone if I don't.)

"Hey," Stiles whispered, leaning hard against his side.

Derek blinked and looked up, to find that everyone had moved. _He'd_ moved. Was moving. They were rounding the forest side of the house, heading back toward the herb garden.

"What--"

"You back?" Stiles frowned up at him, a broken half-smile blooming at whatever he saw in Derek's face. "You checked out kinda big time. While still tracking whoever was talking and reacting at the right times, which, let me tell you? _Really_ weird to watch." And not pleasant, from the twisted sense of unease taking up one side of his head. "Especially since you're actually weirdly normal, like that." Stiles casually thumped his chest with the back of one hand, too light to be serious, even if he'd been human. "Which, I've discovered, I don't like. So."

Inside the house, his mother-- That was a laugh. That was a laugh forcibly redirected into a snort. "Oh god, no _wonder_ Victoria wasn't answering. Sorry for interup-- Yes, well, I wouldn't be calling _you_ if something wasn't wrong, would I."

"How long? What's going on? Where--"

Peter was still with Scott and Allison, headed toward the kitchen. Tania was talking with Stiles' dad in the main room (managing to keep the topic on escape artist kittens and babies, somehow). Grandmother Hale had the kids who could walk on their own outside, and for the moment it sounded like were 'helping' set up a fire pit (except for Matt, who would _actually_ be helping). His father was circling in just close enough for Derek to hear.

Paul was too far out for ears, but Laura's car had just turned up the drive. Niq, Vic, and Cara weren't expected for an hour yet.

"Not that long," Stiles said, answering the only one of Derek's questions he could. "Minute or two, maybe. And, see, _I don't know_ what's going on. Can you fill in some blanks?"

Derek huffed and pulled Stiles around the edges of the garden, toward the porch so they could sit. "The Argent family are the hunters we have a treaty with."

"I haven't heard anything from the patrols yet, so I'm going to assume this really is just an accident," his mother continued inside. "I doubt you'd be--relaxing, quite so strenuously if something was going down anyway." A pause, then she muttered, almost too low to hear, "No. Bad alpha. Must. Not. Crack. Jokes."

There was a rhythmic thumping from the study. His mother bouncing in place.

Stiles dropped heavily onto the porch next to him, muttering "Of _course_ they are."

"Sorry. Yes, the point. Your daughter's here," his mother continued inside, relief flooding their connection a moment later, though none of it touched her voice. "Yes, Allison. Big surprise for us too, I promise." A pause, then, "No, I don't think she lied to you. She _is_ here with her boyfriend. He's who we invited, actually. The rest was just teenager calendar management."

Derek pressed his nose against the skin in front of Stiles' ear and closed his eyes, let his hearing spread out until it was everything. Then he started translating.

"Peter has Allison and Scott in the kitchen. They seem to be getting along. Tania's talking babies with your dad, and taking him back to see the kittens. Mom's on the phone with the Argents and Grandma's got the kids corralled out front, where it's--"

_Where it's safe_ , his brain finished.

They weren't going to risk having the kids trapped inside if there was the slightest chance they were going to need to run. The babies were inside, with Tania and John, but that was safe in its own way. They needed to be carried, and a human bystander who knew guns and a bitten-werewolf mother was--

Actually, that was kind of alarming to think about. But Greg and Erin were safe, and that's what was important.

"Allison's parents didn't know she was coming here," he continued. "They're--"

"No, Chris. You can't-- Put your wife on, before we regret this call." Another pause, and "Victoria. Aside from Allison, we have other guests. Purely human, unaware guests, who are nonetheless _quite_ observant and shrewd. If your husband or any of his lackeys show up here without a good excuse, I can't--"

Crap. Derek sighed, wrinkling his nose when Stiles reached up to flick his shoulder. "They're what?"

"Allison's dad wants to come here. Mom's talking to his wife now. It seems to be going better."

It felt better, at least. The pack bonds were slowly loosening, still tight but no longer thrumming with tension. "Good. Now, does she know about the family business or not? What does she know about her aunt?" A pause, then his mother was snapping with more than a hint of snarl. "I'm not going to flash my teeth at your precious little girl, Victoria. I need to know what we _can't_ talk about. And if we don't have some explanation to offer her for why we're acting oddly we have to _lie to her_. On _your_ behalf which, I promise you, she'll find out about when she--"

"Derek?" It was a whisper, hardly even that, but it was hot against his ear and too close not to overpower everything for a moment.

Derek leaned back, shaking his head at Stiles and probably frowning. It would have taken too much effort to pay attention to what his face was doing, right then. He turned his head away so he could pitch his voice for gaining attention. "Mom."

"I know," his mother was sighing. "Ho-- Yes. Hold on, I need to hear--"

He could feel it, the moment his mother's attention turned to him. Not all of it, but enough. "John knows about-- About the fire, I mean. They have my statement, and I told him to read it. If he knows Allison's last name..." 

He glanced at Stiles, who was frowning and shrugged when Derek caught his eye. "I don't... He might? I'm sure it came up at some point, but..."

"Fudge balls," his mother said cheerfully, the majority of her attention slipping away again. "Goose liver, platypus, tank."

Snorting, Derek shot a quick smile Stiles' way. "Wanna hear how bad Mom is at not swearing?" 

There was a faint growl from his mother, but it was worth it for the way Stiles' face lit up at 'fudge balls'. For the way he laughed himself into hiccups, leaning against Derek to keep from falling over as he finished.

Inside, his mother sighed and finally responded to the shrill, angry squawking coming over the phone. "New information. This has gotten more complicated. One of our guests is the sheriff, and he's read Derek statement from the fire, at least. Recently. He may or may not know Allison's an Argent, but if he does he either hasn't made the connection, or is keeping quiet. But he'll figure it out eventually. Do you--? Yes. Fine, we can do that. Yes. See you soon."

The bottom dropped out of his stomach, and Stiles was pressing hard against his side again. Too fast to have been anything but the bond. "What?"

"The Argents are coming here. They're--"

"Alright everyone," his mother's voice _pulled_ his focus in, not letting him ignore it. "We've got two extra guests for dinner. We're going to explain the fire but _not_ werewolves to Allison, after her parents get here, so be nice to the poor girl. Laura, glad you're here. Now go let the boys on patrol know what's going on. Mom, you get your wish, we're eating outside even if we freeze. Make sure that fire's built up."

Derek turned back to Stiles and found himself on the wrong side of a frustrated glare. "They're coming here. They-- With your dad possibly knowing, we can't be sure it won't come up by accident, so they're going to come and explain the fire for Allison." Stiles gaped, and Derek shrugged. "The non-werewolf version, anyway."

"Great. That's-- Wow. Scott's going to be _so glad_ he brought Allison over to see the kittens," Stiles groaned, slumping against Derek and smelling tired, moist, and sad.

Derek lifted a hand to pet Stiles' hair, refocusing his attention to check in with the rest of the pack. The bright laughter in the kitchen was easy to find, and unfamiliar. "...well, at least they've been with Peter. He seems to be bonding with Allison over grossing Scott out with roasted bell peppers."

Stiles was silent for a moment, the feel of him melting into something contemplative and mild. Then, "I don't think I want to know," and he was twisting and straightening and kissing Derek.

Derek let him in with a sigh, ignoring his mother's muffled "Really?" from from the house and the snap of Laura taking a picture as she paused on her way to the woods.

His family could shut up. He was allowed this. 

At least for now, he was allowed this.

\-----

They only had a few minutes to themselves before Tania offered to show John the gardens out back, because even the people who married into his family were evil. Then Stiles was corralled into helping with the furniture and kids, and Derek was herded into the kitchen. They were going to need a few last minute dishes if the Argents were staying (and if they weren't, it wasn't like the food would go to waste with ten werewolves and two teenage boys at the table).

Of course, the kitchen meant Peter and Allison, and occasionally Scott as he wandered back and forth between being helpful with Stiles and being helpful with Allison, carrying news between the groups as though they were human. Which--fair enough.

\-----

It turned out Allison knew her way around a set of knives, which was only surprising because there was a cutting board involved.

"My family's really into food," she explained, smiling and relaxed but not once looking up or breaking pace as she reduced a handful of garlic chives to a consistency just this side of powder. "Both sides of it, actually. And my parents are _really_ strict about knife technique."

Of course they were. Derek wanted to thump his head against a cupboard, but just frowned down at the rhubarb his uncle had him dicing.

Peter hummed approvingly at the neat pile of chives Allison transferred into a bowl for him and passed her a bunch of parsley, fresh from its last rinse. "They certainly are. Let me know if you need a part time job, Allison. I could definitely find room for you."

Derek's knife met the cutting board with a sharp thunk, bypassing the rhubarb entirely as he stared at his uncle. From the corner of his eye, he could see Allison frozen with the parsley clutched tight in one hand. The sweet-ozone tang that seemed to be her content baseline went staticky and barbed as she stared at Peter, eyes wide (Surprise, affront, confusion, something else? He didn't know her well enough to tell), before she frowned faintly and turned back to the cutting board and herbs.

For his part, Peter tossed a flash of an eyebrow at Derek before turning away, taking a moment before he apparently remembered who Allison's parents were. A grimace flashed over his face, but he shrugged it off a moment later.

"Sorry," Peter said, leaning over the island to give Allison an apologetic smile. "That probably came out of nowhere. I run a restaurant downtown."

From the yard, overseeing the bonfire and keeping an ear out for Allison's parents, Derek's mother muttered, "You run the _kitchen_ , baby brother."

(Derek had never thought he'd be _happy_ to have an Argent in the house, but at the moment it meant that his uncle couldn't start up that particular argument again.)

"Oh!" Allison said, knife stilling as she looked up, a blush rising to join the returning wide-eyed stare. "So you're-- You mean it?"

Her scent smoothed out again, sweeter and lighter than before. Smiling, Peter set a shallot next to her elbow. "I do. You're quite good at this."

"I'm only ever good at weird things," Allison admitted, dimples flashing before she returned to the parsley with intent. "What restaurant?"

"Lapin Grillé," Peter said, his scent twisting with tomato vine and brown sugar like always. "It's--"

"Just ask anyone around town where The Pin Grill is," Derek cut in, smirking at the glare his uncle shot his way. "If you ever need to find it."

"That's _not_ what the name means," his uncle groused, mostly under his breath.

But Allison was laughing, bright and open. "Yeah, it's-- That's grilled rabbit, right? French?"

"Or broiled, yes." And Peter was smiling again, greensap-and-sugar smug and unbearably pleased that someone knew what it meant, if not the reference that went with it. Derek rolled his eyes and dumped the rhubarb into a bowl so he could start tossing it with sugar.

"What's French?" Scott asked, rounding the corner into the kitchen and heading to the sink to wash his hands without prompting. He hardly smelled like Alan's clinic at all by that point, wrapped up in dust and old wood and Stilinski-spice and Allison-ozone and pack and kittens over everything, from all the running back and forth.

He smelled more like-pack than not. It was confusing. They didn't really know each other, yet. Not well.

"Lapin Grillé," Allison filled in with a surprisingly good accent. "It means grilled," she paused, tossing a quick smile over at Peter. "Or, I guess, broiled rabbit. And it's--apparently Peter's restaurant?"

Peter was working on suffocating the room in happy-smug, but before he could answer out loud, Scott was turning away from the sink with an impossibly bright grin. "Wait, is that from-- Crud, I don't remember the name of the show," he said, frowning. "My mom loved it, though. About this guy who handles, like, really absurd situations, and--"

"Oh, here we go," Derek sighed, wiping his hands clean before looking for the lemon juice. "Now he's never going to shut up."

Peter had upgraded to beaming, and Derek was wondering how many days of cleaning it was going to take before the greensap-and-sugar smell stopped lingering. "The Middleman! Yes! That is _exactly_ it! And it is my restaurant," Peter confirmed, as he handed a bowl of colorful, mismatched tomatoes to Scott. "Or at least, mine enough that I have say over hiring the kitchen staff. Here, wash these while you talk."

At least his uncle was happy. And probably going to try and tempt Scott away from Alan.

It wouldn't hurt to have more high schoolers working at the restaurant, though. Especially if they knew about werewolves too, which...maybe. 

Either way, that kid his uncle had practically adopted a couple years back could probably use the company. And he could definitely use the support network beyond just Peter. Friends he wouldn't need to have so many secrets from would just be a bonus.

\-----

The rhubarb compote was simmering on the stove for later, the herbed tomato salad was ready to go, the roast had finished resting and was being sliced possibly a bit thinner than Peter normally bothered with, there was a pot of rigatoni almost ready to be drained and dumped into the chunky tomato sauce and meatballs Derek had pulled out of the freezer and reheated, and there were two cars coming up the drive.

Only one of them was familiar.

Derek wiped his hands on a kitchen towel and glanced over at Peter. Peter didn't bother looking up, just nodded toward the door. "Take the salad out. Remember to keep it covered, it needs--"

"To be tossed again just before serving," Derek finished for him, grabbing the bowl. "And also, bugs. I remember."

The first thing he saw when he left the house was Stiles, standing with his back to the fire and frowning out at the road.

Not exactly subtle, but Derek couldn't be mad about that. (Especially not when Paul had broken away from the group to walk toward Niq's usual parking spot, even though there was no way the humans could hear or see anything yet.)

Also, it was just a really compelling visual. His fingers itched for a sketch book. For markers, or paint.

But then Niq was passing the treeline, and her heart was hammering away at nearly double time. She was ranting away in Spanish before she'd even gotten out of the car, but Derek was more focused on the SUV that pulled into the clearing behind her and was parking at the far end of the line.

His Spanish wasn't good enough to keep up with Niq on a tear anyway. Especially not when she ended up muttering it into Paul's chest.

"Uh, what--" Allison had a different variety of wide-eyed going on, and curled in against Scott's side with a disbelieving huff of a laugh. " _Why_ are my parents here?"

Chris hadn't really changed. He'd mostly kept quiet, at the truce talks, but it was hard to forget a man who'd stood against the wall for hours, fingers just brushing the gun at his thigh. Staring. At him.

But he'd been weathered and harsh then, and he was harsh and maybe a little more weathered now. Looking at him was like a flashback of the worst sort.

Victoria was--worse, for all that she'd changed more. Different hair style, different dye, more stress lines, more laugh lines, less pain and hostility in her shoulders.

Same fucking terrifying eyes.

Derek dropped the salad off and headed for Stiles. Maybe they could do the world's slowest patrol, or just go for that walk, or _anything_ to get them away from--

There was a tiny, angry growl and Derek could _feel_ the attention of every wolf at the house twist away from the Argents. Honing in on Greg, sitting in John's lap while Tania ran Erin out to Niq and waving tiny clawed hands in the air as he tried to struggle free.

John's eyebrows had shot up high enough to be comical, but that was the only reaction so far.

"Why is this my life," Derek sighed, finally getting close enough to snag Stiles away from his position of glaring suspiciously at the Argents. "I'll explain to the sheriff, someone else get between Greg and the others, for--"

He bit off the _fuck's sake_ , but that was at least half because Olivia had swept in behind Scott and Allison, and Paul was using the excuse of greeting the Argents to get between them and the shifted baby.

"What--" Stiles turned his glare on Derek, confusion and frustration and unease warring through their connection before going blank with shock, fear, and--squishy? "Oh, wow, that is the cutest thing. I mean, oh god, _out of my dad's lap_ ," Stiles hissed, low and intense as he sped up until _he_ was dragging _Derek_ toward his dad. "There's claws and oh my god, tiniest fangs. But. That's--"

"Focus, Stiles," Derek smiled weakly at John as they finally made it to his seat on the front porch. "Uh, hi. Sir." Derek winced as John turned the improbable eyebrows in his direction. But Greg was whining, high and thin in a way that didn't sound quite human, and that took priority.

Derek rubbed a hand over Greg's hair then down to cover his face. He wasn't Greg's favorite and he didn't hold the cub that often, but-- Greg went boneless, slumping forward and snuffling at Derek's hand, smelling familiar and family and pack.

When he looked back up, John was watching Greg again, staring as Greg's ears rounded out and the little patches of fur on his cheeks faded away. "Should we--"

"We should talk," John nodded, still staring down at Greg. "Inside?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Probably no update next week.** For personal reasons, I am giving myself next Monday off. Updates will continue as normal July 8. (It's possible I'll change my mind and will update, but I don't want to disappoint anyone if I don't.)
> 
> No tattoo artist this week. Sorry.
> 
> It might seem like the kittens disappeared this week, but I promise that's not actually the case. In fact, Maria found one of them in the study when she went to call the Argents, and spent the entire phone call with Stitch curled up on her shoulder and vaguely alarmed.


	37. just saving the meltdown for later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is up a bit later than usual. Various shenanigans including visiting friends and being in another country meant I forgot to post last night. (I have a calender reminder for Mondays, not for Sundays.) 
> 
> As a friendly reminder from your author and a fan who was last in fandom back in the early 00's, I have a motto for reading fanfic. **Don't like, don't read.**
> 
> This story is, because I'm posting it as a work in progress, inherently a first draft. It's a first draft without a lot of opportunity anymore for me to do advance planning and to cull large sections of the text that will later prove to be unnecessary. Yes, the pacing is off. Yes, there's a lot of extra weight. Yes, I have even contradicted myself.
> 
> No, you don't know what is and is not important in the story better than I do. No, your analysis of what in the story could be culled is not actually correct. No, the story isn't missing a plot, **you're missing the plot in the story** , there's a difference.
> 
> In other words, I've been getting anonymous (and not so anonymous) complaints again. Not a lot of them, but it doesn't have to be a lot. Readership has fallen off as this story has stretched into insane lengths. That's fine. Do that. Come back and read when I post the final chapter, if then. Don't like? Don't read. Easy. Back button is right over there.
> 
> But keep in mind that the author has been unemployed and actively job hunting for over six month now. That she needs medication for anxiety and depression. That this story is one of the things she's doing because _it makes her feel better_. I'm not avoiding plot and tension, things being bad and horrible is just not what this story has _ever_ been about. (That's not true, actually. Enigmatic Roommate made me put the tension back in this chapter, because I took it out after people complained about how there wasn't enough of it. See how the complaining at me strategy doesn't work?)
> 
> You don't have to make my life miserable, guys. It already is. So typos, grammar mistakes, yet another note that I still haven't fixed that line of Spanish for the fourth time back in whatever chapter it was in? Those are great. That's fine. But if you just don't like the story and think I'm telling it wrong? Please keep it to yourself. It doesn't do any good for me or the story for you to share it.
> 
>  
> 
> And everyone who's horrified I felt the need to write that note? Rock on, I adore you, there's no need to give me your support in the comments. <3 I know it's there. Don't worry. (And I don't think this should be an issue but on the off chance it is? Please also don't go looking for the people who made me upset. I want a decrease in negativity, not a re-aiming of it.)

Talking was easier said than done. For starters, where to go?

He hesitated just inside the door, considering his options. Victoria's voice, clear and sharp despite the distance, the walls, the fact that he was trying to _not_ pay attention, decided him.

"Just-- Give me a minute."

John raised an eyebrow at him, but jiggled Greg patiently against his hip and it was absolutely not fair that he could keep up a sense of casual authority while holding a baby. Stiles stayed out of the exchange, too busy bending over and trying to get his shoes off without doing a header into the coat rack.

Derek--was not staring at Stiles. Right. He slipped into the main room and grabbed one of the cardigans off the chair Tania kept colonizing, a pillow from Peter's favorite spot on the couch, one of the little CD players from the entertainment center, a random handful of CDs.

He probably looked completely ridiculous, but he at least had a plan.

Outside, his mother, grandmother, and all three Argents were settling down near the bonfire. His father should have been with them, but he was just--gone. So were Jacob and Gwen, which was enough of an explanation. It sounded like they were still sorting out what to do with Scott.

John gave him an expectant look as he came back and Derek nodded toward the hall. "We're heading down to the basement," he said for the Stilinskis' benefit, and the pack's. "I need the space, and Greg will feel safer down there."

They followed him easily enough, though he heard John muttering back to Stiles "Why do I feel like we're in a spy movie?" and Stiles answering back "Right idea. Wrong genre."

His life.

\-----

"Okay, I can tell you aren't trying to put my _dad_ at ease here," Stiles drawled, a strange mix of amusement and trepidation coloring Derek's impression of him.

Derek set his supplies down on the stack of blankets between the mattresses and turned to glance back at Stiles. "What?"

In answer, Stiles just gestured wildly at the room, nearly unbalancing himself when the shoulder he had most of his weight braced against was no longer in contact with the doorjamb.

Amusing, but not very informative.

Derek tried to think about the room the way a human would, but he _wasn't_ human. The floor was thick with rugs, around and under the bare mattresses crammed in the corners. His family's scents were overpowering, soaked into every thread for _years_.

He couldn't _see_ the room. The scent of it was too thick.

"I don't-- This is just..." He hesitated, frowning and pulling a thin blanket out over the first mattress instead of taking the time to put sheets on them. "It's safe, here. It smells safe. Greg and-- Greg needs that."

Greg would much rather be with his parents and his alpha, probably. _Derek_ needed it, but he wasn't going to admit that.

Didn't have to, from the soft sympathy-feel Stiles was leaking across the bond.

"Why are there chains in this room?" the sheriff asked--surprisingly mildly, considering--from the next door down. 

Maybe Derek should have closed all the doors, instead of letting John take his time exploring.

Stiles sighed and turned back to collect his father from the distraction. "I'm pretty sure that's getting explained, Dad."

The chains weren't that bad. It was the _kids'_ room. They had a good six feet of chain and while the benches weren't exactly comfortable, it was nice to have options.

He and Laura used to play go fish while hooked up to those. 

Come to think of it, that's where Grandmother Hale had taught them how to play poker.

It wasn't control they needed right now, though. It was safety.

Derek finished covering the mattresses up and made a quick nest out of Tania's cardigan and the pillow that smelled like Peter before plopping himself down with his back to the wall to go through the CDs he'd grabbed.

Someone had slipped a compilation of Sousa marches into the mix. Again. Derek huffed annoyance and flipped past a disc of Bocelli, the useless (for adults) white-noise CDs of ocean and rain noises, and waffled a moment before setting the Mumford and Sons aside to put in ArchAndroid. It was more distracting, and Victoria's voice might stand out through the softer vocals on Sigh No More.

Derek hit play and adjusted the volume before pushing the CD player out the tiny half-window and letting the headphones dangle just inside, then sat down again and listened. Not so loud he'd miss a gunshot or shouting from outside, but it was enough to keep him hearing normal conversation by accident. Good enough.

"Hey," John protested from down the hall, followed by Stiles saying "No. You treat my boyfriend's house like a crime scene, you lose baby privileges."

Stiles' voice grew stronger, along with the sound of two sets of feet approaching. "Derek will probably answer your questions anyway, and besides that I'm not exactly thrilled with you keeping the tiny clawed wonder against your squishy side anyway."

"I'm not _squishy_ ," John muttered just before they rounded the corner to come in.

"Comparatively speaking, Dad, oh my god." Stiles rolled his eyes but zeroed in on Derek, offering Greg up when Derek held his arms out. "Would you just sit?"

John eyed the mostly barren room, probably judgmentally, before lowering himself carefully onto the other mattress. "Alright. So?"

"Most of my family are werewolves," Derek said, keeping his eyes down on Greg as he got the cub wrapped up, then cradled against his chest. Heartbeat, packmate, parent-scents, den-space: that's what calm, sleepy, baby werewolves are made of. "That's why Kate Argent tried to have us killed, and right now, upstairs, my mother is probably helping explain that to _Allison_ Argent. Only without the werewolves, I think."

Stiles shook his head before sprawling out on the mattress next to Derek. "Wow, you're pretty bad at this."

"You're _very_ bad at this," John corrected, and when Derek looked up he seemed even more judgmental than he had when surveying the room. (Down the hall, another set of footsteps started toward them, barefoot or nearly. He couldn't pick out a heartbeat over the music without opening himself up to the Argents again, though.) "Werewolves?"

"I can show you, but you already saw Greg shift earlier," Derek shrugged. "It's not as cute on an adult."

And-- _Really_? Derek glared at Stiles, throwing disbelief back at the curl of arousal he could feel.

Stiles shrugged sheepishly back, faintly blushing as he turned his grin toward his dad. "Ah, yeah. Cute's not the right word."

"Not the right word for what?" Dominique asked as she bustled in and did a controlled collapse onto the mattress right next to John, being just careful enough to make Erin squeep and flail her arms in delight rather than alarm. "Because I _know_ you're not talking about baby werewolves."

John tensed and scooted away from Niq, who laughed and moved to give him a little more room. "Sorry. Habit."

John was shaking his head as Stiles offered up, "We were talking about werewolves, but not babies. Derek was going to show my dad what it looks like."

Which led to three pairs of eyes on him.

Derek sighed, but met John's eyes and blinked his own to blue, then pulled the shift forward when John just frowned, his heartbeat hardly changing.

That didn't last. 

John rocked back, pulse kicking up a notch as Derek rolled the kinks of the shift out. (Stiles' pulse kicked up a notch too, but Derek was trying to ignore that.)

His fear smelled like Stiles'. Derek...could have done without knowing that.

"Oh-kay," the sheriff nodded after a few moments. "Werewolves."

Derek blinked the shift back and pressed a fist against his mouth, trying to hold back a laugh. It was just-- After Stiles, he supposed he should have known the sheriff wouldn't react as expected.

Niq didn't have his reservations. But she also wasn't laughing.

"I would be swearing so much right now if there weren't tiny sensitive ears everywhere," she snorted, irritated jealousy simmering over their pack bond. "Seriously. You two are un _believ_ able."

"Excuse you," Stiles protested. "I think you mean _awesome_."

Dominique rolled her eyes and clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "I think I mean you're both taking this whole life changing revelation stupidly well, is what I--"

"Not really," John held up a hand, cutting Stiles and Niq off before they could get any more traction. "I'm just saving the meltdown for later."

It sounded like a joke, but he wasn't lying.

"Now, as entertaining as you two arguing would probably be," John continued, "I have a few questions."

Stiles and Niq settled back at the same time, turning their attention to the sheriff. Stiles relaxed but Niq...didn't. Still tense, still unsettled and uneasy and almost _angry_ , but letting it go. For the moment, at least.

John didn't turn his attention to Derek, though. Kept his eyes on his son as his eyebrows arched up again. "Exactly _how_ long have you known about this?"

Ah. _That_.

Stiles cringed, but managed to almost successfully turn it into a sheepish smile. Almost. "Uh. Remember when my car broke down?"

" _Tuesday_?" John sounded surprised, but Derek had no idea if that was over how long Stiles had kept a secret from him, or because he'd thought it had been longer.

Niq laughed, snorting into her palm and jiggling Erin soothingly when she started fussing. The bitter tang of her almost-anger was softening, at least.

"It was an accident," Derek explained. "I hadn't intended for him to find out, but then he did and we wanted to make sure we had time to answer his questions."

John eyed him for a moment, then sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I don't want to know, yet, how exactly _that_ happened as an accident."

The 'yet' was...alarming. How, exactly, was he supposed to--

"God, Dad," Stiles _voice_ was practically rolling its eyes as he slouched against Derek's side. Derek shifted Greg a bit more to his right and Stiles curled in to take advantage of the opening, pressing comfort along the touch. "Way to make it sound sketchy. You saw the eye thing, right? Well they freaking _glow in the dark_. _So_ cool, but _really_ not subtle when it's dark out."

That. That worked. It was even partly true. True enough Stiles' heart stayed steady. That he felt he wasn't lying.

Derek's relief tangled up with Stiles' amusement, both sides turning to an affection that echoed back and forth between them.

"I'll accept that," John nodded. "I don't think it's entirely _true_ , but I can accept it as the non-traumatizing version."

"Here," Niq huffed, amused, and held Erin out for John. "I was told baby-therapy works with you, and _she_ at least is probably a good five months off the possibility of shifting."

It was easy to see that it was true, too. John's shoulders visibly relaxed as he reached out for Erin, who was only fussing a little at the exchange. Who gave a happy chuff once she was settled against John's chest (Again. She'd spent so much time there already that day that he smelled familiar) and flailed a hand at his chin.

"And she might not at all," Derek added. "Dominique's human, so Erin has a mostly even chance of being human."

Niq groaned and scooted back on the mattress until she could slump against the wall. "Can we please _not_ get into the math and weirdness of werewolf genetics right now, though. Short answer, magic!" she said, throwing her arms up at the end. She sounded light and amused, but Derek could smell exhaustion creeping in at the edges of the emotional soup she was working on.

"I see." John's face was calm and serious, if you didn't look at the crinkling around his eyes. "So. Magic."

Stiles' pulse jittered at that, and he coughed. "Uh. Yeah. We're gonna have to--" John gave his son a look Derek didn't know how to translate, but it made the jitters he could feel building in Stiles' brain deflate. "I might be kind of magic and I might have accidentally kind of...accelerated my connection to the pack?"

That look Derek could translate. It was a combination of 'you'd better not be bullshitting me' and 'I can't believe those words are coming out of your mouth right now.' 

He saw that look aimed at Peter a lot.

"That's new too," Stiles continued. "That-- Ah, _yesterday_ , actually, and it's not as weird as it sounds! Lots of people apparently have magic, they just don't have it in a way that actually _does_ anything, where I actually need training, because I'm like that, and--"

Derek turned a bit and moved Greg to his right arm, so he could hook the left over Stiles' shoulder. Stiles took the hint, sighing even as he pulled the hand in and bit down on the side of Derek's index finger.

Whatever. Stiles no longer felt like a gerbil on Red Bull in his head. 

"That's not werewolves," Niq said, drawing Derek's attention back to Stiles' _father_ , who was staring incredulously at them. "That's just them."

\-----

After that, they'd had to explain about pack bonds and mates--

John squinted at him for a short eternity before asking, "So is that-- You don't _actually_ mate for life, do you? I mean. When you--" He gestured vaguely, but his discomfort and the grimace on his face managed to scream 'sex' loud and clear.

"See? These questions come up even without Google's help!" Stiles added cheerfully, while the earth failed to open up and end Derek's torment.

\--which led back to Stiles' magic again--

"Wait a minute. What do you mean, you _have_ one of those...bond things?"

"Partial! _Partial_ bond, Dad. And I _told you_ , we have that under control."

"I'd have an easier time believing you if you could go two minutes without _chewing on your boyfriend_."

\--and he did remember to explain the chains--

"So it's just for the kids," John repeated slowly, like he was feeling each word out to make sure he actually had the right one as he said them. "The chains. Are for kids."

Niq was laughing into her hand, but Derek nodded. "It's pretty common for us to get fast before we get strong," he tried explaining. "A kid could get away and hurt someone if we didn't keep them locked up until we could trust their control."

John's pulse skipped, and he frowned. "Before they get strong. But you put them in chains like that anyway?"

"They're still strong. They wouldn't--" Derek hesitated, darting a glance at Niq, but he couldn't tell from her wide eyes what made her nervous. "Those chains wouldn't hold an adult."

John's scent soured with metal-fear and a weird nutty note Derek had no context for, and...probably that. Niq had probably been worried he'd say that.

\--and more basic werewolf facts--

"Silver bullets aren't a thing, it's a translation error. _Argent_ bullets are dangerous, because they're usually filled with wolfsbane."

That earned him a stern look from the sheriff. "Explain that."

\--werewolf _hunter_ facts--

"Supernatural hate crime," the sheriff groaned as he handed Erin back to her mother, before his stress could set her off. "Fantastic."

Derek jiggled Greg and rubbed his back, trying to soothe him back to sleep. It was probably a lost cause, with how intense all the fear and worry in the room probably smelled to him, but Derek had to try.

He didn't miss the way John kept frowning and glancing over at Stiles either, which wasn't helping to keep _him_ calm.

\--and Derek learning a few things--

"It doesn't matter if Stiles would take the bite or not, right now," Niq cut across the sheriff's question. "Maria wouldn't bite him. Not until he's fully bonded to the pack."

"I'm not sure I would," Stiles offered. "I mean. It sounds aweso-- Don't give me that look Dad it _totally_ sounds awesome. But Deaton said the bite kind of cancels out human magic, so I'd--"

"Wait, what?"

Stiles twisted around to look at him, then startled back and away from his side as Greg fussed, claws out and leaving a couple small gouges against his jaw. Derek dropped his head to mutter soothing grumbles against Greg's hair and grabbed for a blanket corner to wipe the blood away.

"Uh," Stiles started. "You. Are you--"

"He'll be fine," Niq interrupted, before Stiles could get too worked up. "You've got a bad angle on it, but he's healed already. And this," she noted wryly, giving Derek time to finish cleaning up the blood and bunch the dirty blanket up next to him. "This is why we usually don't even let humans _in_ the pack hold the werewolf babies unless everyone's totally calm. They're little emotional barometers."

Stiles and John were both nodding, but they were also staring and smelling fit to set Greg off again. Derek sighed and turned back to Stiles. "What do you mean, the bite would cancel out your magic?"

He startled then stilled, and Derek could _feel_ his brain changing direction. "Uh, yeah. You didn't know that? I just-- I mean, does it matter?" He frowned suddenly, worried. "To you, I mean. If I stay human."

He shook his head, but Stiles was grinning before he'd even started the gesture, his own exasperated negation melting into Stiles' relief.

"Okay, yeah. I want to think about it, obviously, but I want to know what my magic _does_ first, y'know?"

\--and more evidence of why John was the sheriff--

"Okay, if you two are done with your mini-drama. Deaton? Alan Deaton? The vet?"

John looked torn between disbelief and hilarity. Stiles let his head drop back against Derek's shoulder, exposing way too much of his neck for Derek's comfort (for two different reasons, only one of which involved threat). "I'm no good at this secrecy thing am I."

\--and in the end, they only really stopped because Laura stuck her head in the door.

"Okay, Werewolf Sunday School has to be put on pause for dinner. Cara and Vic have finally gotten here. Allison stayed and is in with Scott and the kittens, recovering. Her parents left. Their car should be out of hearing range and everything."

"What--" he started, but Laura shook her head abruptly.

"Mom wants to talk to all of you after dinner." She blinked, then shrugged dismissively, "Well. Not counting Niq and the babies. Are you gonna be okay with Allison?" she switched abruptly, her focus zeroing in on Derek. "Tania was planning on faking a headache so she could come in and eat with Greg, but if you need space--"

"No." The word was out of his mouth before he'd thought about it, but it was true. "No, it's fine. I'm okay with Allison."

The surprise-pleasure-relief he felt from Stiles in response to that was nice, as well as predictable. It didn't have much to do with his response, though. That had a lot more to do with the girl with the unexpected French accent, who was only good at weird things and told teasing lies with exaggerated, playful innocence for laughs.

He thought he might be okay with Allison. It was the Argent he had problems with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No tattoo artist this week, sorry.
> 
> Update next week should go as planned, but I'll come back here and edit the end note if it's not going to happen. I did just invite a lot of lash back, and I'm aware of that.
> 
> In unrelated news, I do adore comments talking and speculating about things the people in the story do wrong. About sixty percent of the time, they leave me cackling and gleeful because you're right, and I know it, and I've already addressed it in the next chapter. The other forty percent of the time you're reminding me of something I missed. So those comments? Those are wonderful.
> 
> And in general, y'all are wonderful. Thank you for sticking with me for this long.


	38. The Talk version 2.0

Allison caught him before he'd made it to the table. He'd hung back to hand Greg off to Tania, and suddenly she was just-- _there_. Waiting for him on the porch with a mostly full pitcher of water.

Derek had no idea what his face was doing, but whatever it was made Allison wince when she saw it. "Oh, god, I'm being creepy aren't I. I didn't mean to be creepy."

"It's-- What _did_ you want?"

She laughed, breathy and lost, cradling her hands in front of her like she could maybe _catch_ the words she needed, if they'd just fall within range. (That's what it felt like when he did it, anyway.) "I just-- Do you--"

He could feel the steady pulse of his mother's concern and curiosity. Niq's blunt anger, Cara's confusion, the underlying currents of caution and unease from the entire pack. But he couldn't feel Allison. Couldn't parse the way her ozone sharpened until it smelled like there _should_ be carbon there, from the lightning strike, or what made her jaw tense and shift forward like that.

"I'll give you space if _you_ want it, okay? But I'm not going to avoid you just because our parents think it's for the best when they don't even ask you about it." Allison exhaled through her teeth, eyes cutting off to his left. "It's just-- You seemed okay with me in the kitchen? You knew who I was then, right?" She smiled when he nodded and barreled on "Right! So. You can have space if you want it, I _swear_ , but I don't want to force it on you if that's not what you want. Does that-- Am I making sense?"

There were so many possible responses to that, but he settled on shrugging one shoulder as he walked past her. "Don't ask me. I'm just the model who hands out babies."

His entire sense of her stilled and she was laughing, bright and delighted as she followed him back to the tables.

There's a spot left for him on Stiles' right, which was good and most likely related to the fact that Stiles' right hand was planted against Laura's left shoulder and not budging. Allison was apparently on the other side of the table, on the far side of Scott from his own gap.

Not the best set up for a short, supposedly private conversation.

Past Stiles, Cara was laughing at the expression on Scott's face, as Vic stood and hauled her shirt up to show off the wings Cara had inked over her hips and the Twilight Sparkle cutie mark just above her navel. Because his family.

At least John looked amused.

\-----

Cara bit Stiles' shoulder, and Derek's forearm when he reached around to shove her off. Niq kept her fork to herself for once, but Laura made sure the sheriff felt like part of the family by stealing an entire slice of roast while he wasn't looking. The rolls ended up just staying in front of Allison the whole night, after their first cycle around the table.

Turned out she had great aim with bread.

\-----

"Hey, Stiles."

Derek paused from putting the benches up, and had to hurry to catch up with Paul before it was too obvious he didn't really need the help. (Putting the furniture away would have gone so much faster if Scott wasn't so helpful, really.)

Across the yard, Stiles was turning toward Maria, relaxed and attentive and-- For the first time, Derek wondered if he had _pack_ bonds developing, as well. If his mother and Stiles were somehow already connected enough to pull that reaction out of him naturally.

"Would you mind driving your friends home, when we're done here?"

Stiles opened his mouth to protest (Derek could feel the negation. Didn't need to see it in his shoulders or his jaw.) but Maria was rolling her eyes and cupping a light hand over his shoulder. "Then, obviously, come back. Since I was hoping I could keep your dad for a bit."

"Ugh," Stiles deflated, blowing a sharp breath up as though his hair was long enough to get in his eyes. "Fine."

If there was more to that conversation, he missed it. Vic crashed into him once the bench was safely stowed away and hauled him off to one side. "Sounds like _your_ weekend's been exciting."

Derek tilted his head, did a quick check. Scott was being chased off for goodbyes which, apparently, needed to include the kittens for some reason (Scott and Allison being besotted with the kittens, for instance). Allison was already in the kitten room, along with Stiles, his dad, and Derek's dad. All well out of hearing range for most humans. "Yeah, well. Surprise magic and mate bonds will do that."

Vic snorted and thumped her head against his shoulder. "Sorry. You're still gonna be good for your shift tomorrow though, right? You're pretty stacked up with--"

"I'll be fine. Cara's going to be with me, right?" Cara actually _enjoyed_ manning the front desk, unlike her wife, and wasn't in quite as much demand as Tony. Derek nodded when Vic did. "Then yeah, tomorrow should be fine."

Sundays weren't usually that hectic anyway.

"I'll hold you to that," she warned, pulling him in for a hug and an obnoxious cheek kiss. "Now you better track down Cara. We've gotta get going."

He ended up carrying Cara piggyback out to their car, crammed in at the very edge of the clearing, past where the Argents had had to park. Which was fine. It meant she got her hugs in without Derek having to bend over. Win-win. 

Stiles was waiting for him at the edge of the house when Derek walked back. Grinned and stepped into his space, brushed a cobweb out of his hair with a laugh, and claimed a kiss that was as much statement as it was affection.

Derek caught the back of Stiles' neck when he went to pull away and brought them together again. 

He wasn't contested territory. He wasn't, and wouldn't be, a defiance. He was Stiles' mate, to love and be loved, inevitable and unending as the pull of the moon. 

He tried to say that as much with the gentle slide of skin on skin, the brush of his thumb under Stiles' ear, the light press of teeth against his lower lip, as he did with his mind. With the bond that strengthened with proximity.

Stiles' pupils were blown when Derek pulled away, his jaw relaxed and swaying after Derek like an addiction.

And John was frowning and rubbing his eyes on the porch. Maria was behind him with a hand over her mouth and a smirk in her own eyes. (Peter, the asshole, was edging into the doorway to stand behind _her_ with his hands over his ears. Which wasn't nearly as funny as he probably thought it was.)

There was the usual flurry of goodbyes, with Scott and Allison laughing as they were passed down the line that ended up forming for hugs and farewells, and Stiles complaining into Paul's shoulder that he was _coming right back_ and could they just not? (Answer? No.)

The sheriff looked amused, and Derek wondered if he realized he was watching his own eventual fate.

Allison and Scott were crouched down at the corner of the building, listening to Jacob tell them something about crabs that was apparently of vital importance (mostly keeping the new people there and engaged, Derek thought), when Derek's mother came up behind him and hooked her chin over his shoulder. "Hey."

"I'm fine, Mom," he muttered, responding to the jittery edge of worry in her mind rather than her words.

Stiles was laughing, clutching at his stomach and bending down and not caring when Gwen pushed him over so she and Stacia could swarm him for another hug.

"I know," she sighed, and he could feel how tired she felt, just for a moment. "You did good, earlier. Taking care of yourself like that. Thank you."

He grumbled a non-answer and let her rest on the comfort of the contact, of being able to feel where the metaphorical cracks were and make sure the patches were still holding.

He was okay. As okay as he could be.

\-----

The Talk, version 2.0, managed to go worse than the first one.

"Look," John sighed, once Scott and Allison were gone and Maria had hustled both of them into the study. "I am _not_ happy with this. I was getting over the age thing, but now it's not just dating. This is more my seventeen year old son getting _married_. By _accident_."

It was kind of impressive that werewolves still weren't the main problem. Not directly, at least.

Derek claimed one end of the loveseat, after John took his favorite arm chair. (Which had to be coincidence. John couldn't smell out Derek's favorite places to sit.) His mother perched on the desk rather than taking an actual chair, creating a height advantage.

Derek's dad caught up with them, cupping a few tumblers in one hand, a bottle of single malt in the other, and kicking the door shut behind himself. John shook his head, lips drawn tight and raising a hand in rejection when David lifted the bottle in his direction.

"I'm not trying to convince you otherwise, Sheriff," his mother sighed, reaching for the bottle and pouring herself a finger and a half to sip at while David settled in at her side, leaning against the desk. "If I wanted to be negative about this, however, I could point out that your seventeen year old is trapping my emotionally stunted and traumatized son in a lifelong commitment that will cause extensive damage, if something goes wrong."

John startled back, frowning but not-- Not angry. Defensive, Derek thought. Bristling at the implication, but that was probably the point.

"Thanks, Mom," Derek drawled, sinking into the corner of the loveseat and grabbing a pillow to hug. He knew it wasn't making him look any more mature and adult, but it was soothing enough that he didn't care. "Way to stay objective."

"No problem honey," his mother returned, very intentionally missing the point and taking a sip of scotch before addressing their guest again. "That's not how I'm approaching this, John. I could, but I'm not. You need to understand that everything I just said, though? That's all true. Did anyone tell you about Stiles' magic?"

John nodded, sighing and settling back in his seat again. Not relaxed, but not as hostile either. "A bit. Not much. Just that it has something to do with his drawing, and that he's going to be training with the station's _vet_ on how to use it, and that it accelerated his--" He trailed off, waving a hand uselessly at the air. "I can't remember exactly. Pack connections?"

"The mate bond specifically," his mother responded, nodding. "The actual pack bond will form between him and me, first, then branch out to the rest of the werewolves. That hasn't started yet, but it could. With his connection to Derek, Stiles might start bonding into the pack at any time."

There was a pause while John stared at the floor, nodding more out of habit than agreement, before he said, "Werewolves."

"It takes a while to get used to," Derek's father apologized, holding up the bottle again and pouring a finger out for John when he sighed and nodded more decisively.

His mother snorted and kicked her feet back against the walls of the desk. "Like _you'd_ know."

"I was here for Tania," his father answered primly, handing John the tumbler. "And Niq. And Cara. And Thomas."

There was a burst of shock across the bond, then pain as Laura growled and took off for the woods. Directly from a second story window. (Thankfully on the _other_ side of the house and well away from John's line of sight.)

The name got the sheriff's attention, though. And it was the sheriff's, more than John's. His eyes went focused and sharp the same way they had in the living room, when he'd asked about Derek's file, and downstairs when they'd talked about the chains and Alan's involvement. "Thomas?"

"You probably remember him," Derek's mother agreed. "But wait, just--" She sighed, gesturing with her glass. "We should give Laura time to get out of hearing range," she explained, shrugging when the sheriff's eyebrows shot up. "Our senses are probably much better than you're assuming. I brought the four of us in here to limit the amount of participation, not to keep the others from hearing what we say."

"Good to know," John agreed faintly.

"But, yes," his mother said decisively, once Laura's rampage had taken her across a stream that made it hard for Derek to keep track of her. "Thomas Wight. A deputy of yours, about three years ago now."

"I remember. And I remember, now, that he and Laura had been a thing," the sheriff frowned. "A serious thing, I'd thought."

"Until she told him about werewolves," David confirmed. "That was the day before he turned in his notice, so far as we know."

The sheriff grimaced, his expression starting to soften again. "I'd wondered about that. But--"

"I wanted to bring him up to make a point, Sheriff," his father interrupted. "I mentioned his name, and Laura had to run away to protect herself from this conversation."

"And probably to find a small tree to rip apart," Derek added. Because it was true.

Even with what had to be at least a mile between them, now, he could feel the rage Laura had built her pain into.

"I'm not sure it's going to be a small one," Maria sighed.

David nodded agreement. "Pretty sure it won't be." He leaned forward toward the sheriff, expression serious. "Laura and Thomas had just started forming a bond when that happened. A natural bond, not the growth-hormone version our sons have," he chuffed, waving a hand idly toward Derek. Derek did _not_ throw his pillow at his father, but it was a near thing. "She hasn't dated since then. We don't mention him unless we have to, because it hurts her so much."

"And that's normal," his mother said, frowning down at her glass. "I'm not going to start worrying about Laura for another year, at least."

John held up a hand, a tic in his jaw just starting to make an appearance. "I'm sorry, are we in a pissing contest about who's going to be more hurt if they break up? 'Cause I'm not--"

"I just want you to understand why _we're_ worried," his father interrupted. "We have context for human break ups and relationships, but you don't know how we work."

Technically, the sheriff probably had some context for worst case scenarios in broken mating bonds, but Derek wasn't going to be the one to bring up horror movies. They weren't accurate anyway.

"They're worried for Stiles too," he offered instead, and made himself look up as the adults turned back to him. "They don't know how you're coping with any of this, and they're on the offensive because you're the second emergency of the day."

The irritation from his parents was immediate, but it mellowed quickly into speculative curiosity when John just narrowed his eyes then sighed heavily, rubbing a palm over his eyes again. "Oh hell."

"The cubs are still up," Tania pointed out from the third floor. "For a little longer, anyway. Pull your claws in, Gweny, your pajamas don't need ventilating."

Derek snorted, and his mother rolled her eyes. "Right. Remember how I said most everybody could hear us? That includes two of the terrors. They're still getting ready for bed."

John grimaced, opening his mouth to respond before shrugging and offering a wry smile. "Phooey."

That startled a laugh out of Derek's parents, and John's smile was more genuine when he leaned forward to start talking again. "Alright, why don't we start over with some basic assumptions. Neither of these kids meant for this to happen. The situation can go pretty badly for everybody involved, we're all worried about how it's going to shake out, and I'm still not really coping with the whole werewolf thing. Can we start there?"

"We're scared," David admitted, while his wife rolled the last remains of her drink around her mouth, focusing on the burn. "We don't usually work directly with the Argents. Up until last year there was a retired hunter in the area that everything went through, and everyone was comfortable with that. Typically, law enforcement and hunters have been better allies than law enforcement and--"

"Okay, stop there," the sheriff cut in, his voice hard enough not to leave much room for rejection. "I do plan on talking to the Argents and getting their perspective on all this. I refuse to take sides with just half the story. In general, I'm not likely to take sides _at all_. Werewolf or werewolf hunter, _I do not care_. You obey the law, or you explain your reasoning to me why you couldn't. From a holding cell if necessary."

"That's all we're hoping for, John," Derek's mother smiled. "But we were worried. We wanted to have a chance to let you get to know the family a little better before we dumped all this on you."

John scoffed, shaking his head before she was even finished talking. "You wanted to make sure I'd think of you as people. That was something you had years ago."

"Alright then," Maria ducked her head, hiding a smile. "Let's try talking about that pesky bond again, then. It'd probably be best if we could get over any landmines there before Stiles is back."

"Better hurry, then."

The words were out before Derek realized he'd reached for Stiles, before he realized what that simple line would mean to his parents.

John's confusion smelled like Stiles' too, but it was the weight of his parents' focus that had Derek pressing into his seat and biting back a whine.

"Why," his mother asked (well, 'asked'), with the weight of red eyes in her voice even if they weren't showing.

"He's already on his way back," Derek twitched one shoulder up in an attempt at a shrug, finding a spot on the floor to focus on in favor of anyone else in the room. "I'd-- Maybe three or four minutes? I think he's still on the main road, but just barely."

He didn't think. He knew. Could feel Stiles approaching the turn, if not how he felt about it.

There was a brief pause, then the sheriff was asking, "So. What does that mean?"

"It means this entire situation is karmic retribution for how poorly I handled the arson case and the Argent treaty," his mother said cheerfully. "And that I'm wishing I drank for more than just the taste."

Derek's father sighed and pulled her tight against his side so he could nuzzle at her hair. "It means that doesn't sound like a partial bond. We're going to have to go talk to Alan again."

"I can't really tell how he feels?" Derek offered, still trying to make himself small. "I just--sort of feel where he is."

"Kind of like non-consensual stalking," John suggested, standing up and wordlessly requesting another finger of scotch from David. "On the stalker's part."

Derek's mother laughed, just a little bit shrill. "I think we'd all have been more comfortable without that particular comparison."

Stiles made the turn, and Derek felt a faint poke of curiosity and concern. Stiles picking up on his tension from a few miles out and reaching.

He'd have to tell his parents about that development. Just...later.

Definitely later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long, long while, so I think it's only fair to mention that Thomas was mentioned before, back in chapter 15, during a conversation between Derek and his grandmother. - _He remembered the_ aftermath _of Thomas. He remembered Laura methodically ripping apart tree after tree, and breaking her car down into its component parts._
> 
> And a quick thanks to everybody who commented on last week's chapter. I'm generally okay with just writing for myself, but it's awesome to know how many people still find this story worth reading along with. Especially when they're as awesome and supportive as y'all.
> 
> Tattoo Artist of the Week: [Cebecizade](http://cebecizade.com/), working out of Turkey (I think). If you click through to the tattoo galleries, you really should take the time to peer at all of them. Each section has its own sort of style, and it's fascinating to look at.


	39. about family, choice, and screaming fits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies in advance for a super short chapter this week! News in the end note.

He was sitting on the porch steps when the Jeep rolled up. Stiles bypassed the line of cars entirely, parking directly in front of the house and throwing the door closed behind him as he scrambled for the porch. "The hell?"

He yelped and flailed a bit when Derek pulled him off balance and into a hug. Which was fair, since really, he was hugging Stiles' thighs and had his face buried in Stiles' stomach. But it was Stiles, so he relaxed into it once he was no longer falling over, worked his fingers into Derek's hair and rubbed over his scalp.

The bond and the fact that he could _feel_ Derek melting probably had a lot to do with how dedicated he became to the head rubbing, and how quickly he was figuring out just where and how hard to press.

"Seriously, Derek. Still not a mind reader. What happened?"

Derek tilted his head up, pushing into Stiles' hands as he tried to pull sensible thoughts back out of the white static mess of his brain. It would have been easier, if not particularly helpful, for him to break out a sketchbook and a pencil and draw out his distress. Lay out the jagged lines of John's suspicions (concerns, more honestly, but the point was that he had _reason_ for them and that--), the wispy curls of his own doubt, the noisy mess of his parents' defensive bafflement. He could _see_ that, he could put it on paper faster that he could turn it into words.

But that would involve moving, and Stiles wouldn't understand it anyway.

Probably wouldn't, Derek corrected himself, remembering the incident with Alan's visual notes.

Inside, Tania was talking softly with John. About family, and choice, and the screaming fit she threw when she learned werewolves were a thing.

About feeling trapped by the mate bond. About not wanting to break it but not being able to accept it, and the month and a half of utter misery the whole mess caused before she'd been able to calm down. About hating Peter as much as she loved him. About how they hadn't been able to touch at all for most of that period. How she felt manipulated by the way touch forced sharing, and how horrible it was being able to feel the way she made Peter feel.

It was better, slightly, than when his mother had been trying to explain that physically abusive relationships didn't typically _happen_ in mated pairs, without any tangible evidence to back her assertions up or any way to share a feeling. (Or at least, no way that didn't involve injury and bleeding.) 

There was less shouting with Tania, at least. And one hundred percent less chance of Peter, since his wife had sensibly sent him out after Laura.

"Your dad's worried about you," Derek settled on eventually, breathing slowly and deeply and trying to bury himself in the scent and feel of Stiles. The anxiety that meant he cared. "He's-- It's okay."

Stiles' hands tightened in his hair, stopping just barely short of too hard. "Maybe. But _you_ aren't."

 _"It doesn't magically make everything okay," Tania said, sounding almost disgusted with the idea. "We still fight, we drive each other crazy, we make mistakes, and we hurt each other. The worst thing is the pressure_ not _to fight. It's so tempting to make up or compromise before either of us is really happy, because the conflict makes us feel horrible. It's not just unhappy, it's an itch in the brain. Like reality's just a little out of alignment._

_"It wouldn't help, though. Making up too soon, I mean. The bond demands emotional honesty, there's no getting around it. But that itching feeling goes both ways. Making your mate miserable means, quite literally, that you're making yourself miserable too. There's no getting around it, and there's no way to enjoy it."_

"I will be."

\-----

Derek didn't let go of Stiles until the remaining and awake members of the family started swarming around John on the other side of the door. Even then, it was only because Stiles could hear his father's embarrassed muttering and pulled away, saying "Oh, man. I have _got_ to see this."

Stiles leaned through the front door, arms braced to either side with his feet outside and head and shoulders in, and laughed. When Derek made his way to stand behind Stiles, John was awkwardly patting Paul on the back and from his blush, probably trying not to think about Niq, who was doing her damndest to hug both her mate _and_ the sheriff at once.

"Oh man," Stiles muttered with a fake sniffle and pretending to wipe away a tear. "Never knew how badly I needed payback for all those awkward schoolyard hugs."

Derek snorted into his mate's hair and tugged Stiles back as John was released to shoot a disgruntled look his son's way.

But then Laura was there, still smelling of dirt and green and so much pine sap he couldn't smell _her_ under it, and the sheriff had to stop and be hugged again. John was able to make it through the door once she'd released him, though, and by that time Stiles' laughter had calmed down to mild snickers.

The last thing Derek had been expecting was for John to sigh and pull _him_ into a hug, not seeming to care that half of Stiles was squished between them.

"I'd be like this with anybody," John said, voice soft but gruff and weary. "I'd be worried if it was _Scott_ this was happening with." 

"Ew," Stiles muttered and tried to wiggle free.

His heart was steady, though. He at least believed it himself. "Thanks, sir."

John patted his shoulder before pulling away, tugging Stiles with him. "Come by for dinner again soon. Since you're apparently sticking around. _We_ ," he said, shifting his attention to Stiles. "Have a lot to talk about on the ride home."

"Yeah," Stiles agreed, abrupt to the point of being curt. "Yeah, we do."

They both smelled of pepper and metal, and Derek did his best to just be glad he wouldn't have to sit in on the showdown between Stilinski stubborn streaks.

He was still disappointed that they didn't start talking until they were out of easy hearing range.

\-----

Derek managed to avoid anything too involved or awkward with his family, after that. Mostly, he just sat with Laura for a while and helped her clean the sap out of her hair and from under her nails. 

It had been a long day of surprises and revelations, and by all right he should have been exhausted. And he was.

He just couldn't _sleep_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, sorry for yet again lacking a tattoo artist of the week. I'll try to be better prepared for next week.
> 
> But the news! I was really struggling with this chapter all week. Largely because most of my spare brain power was occupied freaking out over finding a new (affordable) place to live. You see, _I'm finally employed again_. First day is coming up soon, but my anxiety over that has meant that I've spent very little time looking at apartments within my new rent range and close to the new office.
> 
> So in general? I'm sorry for the short chapter, and how little it resolved/addressed. *hands* But the job and house things are _really important_.
> 
> I will be trying really hard to keep to my regular Monday updates, but I have no clue what my day to day is going to look like, so I might not be able to. If not, I'll post as such to tumblr, and leave an edited not here. <3
> 
> Hope y'all are having as much luck as I am, if not more. <3 You're amazing. (Yes, even your lurkers.)
> 
> [edit: I was so tired last night I forgot to mention the actual REASON this chapter was short. It wasn't just because I was busy, but because the original chapter I wrote just kept not feeling right. This current chapter? Written entirely on Sunday. Some of it in the minutes before I posted. So errors here are really, really my fault, not enigmatic roommate's. ;P She didn't even get a chance to see them all.]


	40. try telling it in order this time

Derek had nothing against floral tattoos; they were usually fun to do and could look amazing. He kind of hated _roses_ , though. They were overdone to the point of being gratuitous in a lot of cases, and a lot of the design ideas people brought in had just... _terrible_ roses.

People just seemed to like bad art and awful roses. Particularly together.

This set of roses was horrible in a different way, at least. The grainy, blotchy, faded piece of paper in front of him had a cabbage rose motif that looked like it was rejected as wallpaper for being too kitsch.

"I'm really sorry, I'm not at my best today," Derek sighed, squinting at the paper in front of him and trying to kick his brain back into gear. "This is a really bad copy, though. I'm guessing you don't have any access to the original?"

The woman on the other side of the consultation counter grimaced, but she also started digging around in her bag. That was promising. "I do. I have it here, actually. I just-- I dunno. I thought you'd like it on paper?"

What came out of her bag was definitely not paper. Unfolded, the fabric was only about a foot and a half long and a bit more than two feet across. Those would probably never be more than best guess estimates though, since the edges were uneven and ragged, frayed to thread in more places than not.

"It's upholstry," his client explained with another grimace, "salvaged off a couch that was older than I was. I haven't been storing it well, apparently, but--" She shrugged, a tiny spastic twitch of her shoulders more than anything. "It has meaning to me, okay? I mean. I can't think of why else I'd be doing this."

Derek figured she actually meant getting a tattoo. He chose to believe she was also explaining her reasoning for the roses. "Having the fabric is better. So what are you actually looking for?"

\-----

If Derek actually thumped his head against the consultation counter every time a client asked if he could take something and make it 'prettier' or 'nicer looking', the counter would be broken and he might have actually managed to give himself brain damage.

\-----

Half an hour later, Cara was leaning over his shoulder with yet another example of Vic's work from her file in the office, this one a vibrant lily with thick lines and dense, emphatic shading. "Is this any--"

"Yes!" Lenore (Because of course rose-lady was going to forever make him think of Poe. Derek supposed he should just be glad she didn't want ravens) nearly fell over in her haste to stand up. "Like that, only like this too. Does that..? I don't know the words for this. Do you know what I--"

Derek looked at the two designs Lenore had pulled and rubbed at his temple. "You mean the line work. You want this," he pushed some of the papers aside to tap the fabric, "with this type of coloring," he touched the lily, "with these lines?"

The first piece she'd latched onto (the reason this was Derek's commission and not Vic's) wasn't even a tattoo. It was supposed to be, but the client had vanished after he'd approved the art.

Derek had loved it, though, so it was in his portfolio. A balanced cross infinity knot made of the impression of ivy, sketched in with rough lines in variable weights.

Lenore had loved it too, which was why Derek suddenly had to figure out how to make that work with kitschy roses and acid trip coloring.

"You're not expecting the end result to actually look like the upholstery, are you?" he asked, because he had to make sure.

Thankfully, Lenore actually looked horrified at the prospect. "No. Really really no."

Thank fuck.

\-----

Cara was laughing at him.

Sure, it _looked_ like she was just sitting at the consultation counter, sketching out the initial lines for a psychadelic bus design, but he could feel her and smell her and she was definitely laughing. She was just doing it inside her head.

Derek smiled their latest customer out the door with a sheet of aftercare instructions so they'd know what they might be getting into, an explanation of their pricing scribbled over the back, and the tongue-mostly-in-cheek 'So you want to get a tattoo' flyer Vic had put together to answer the most basic newbie questions.

"Try the thing with the vinegar," the guy offered over his shoulder before the door closed. "It's magic, I fucking swear."

The door swung shut behind him and Derek glared at his shoulders as he walked down the sidewalk.

"That's the third person today to think you're hungover," Cara noted, before she finally lost it and pushed her pad aside, slumping over to drop her head onto her arm and laugh. The sweet-metal scent was strong enough it would have made him gag if he wasn't so used to Cara's scents by now.

"Shut up," he huffed.

"No," Cara hiccuped, but her laughter did st least start dying down after that. Not that the quiet lasted for long. "I'm surprised Stiles isn't here."

Derek pulled out his sketchbook and started glaring at cabbage roses again. At the edge of his vision, Cara fidgeted with one of the mechanical pencils she preferred for her second and third draft sketching, her scent softening into something almost sour. More neutral and tentative than her usual.

"I mean," Cara continued, standing up and walking over to the register to lean against his arm. Because she was the worst. "It's Sunday, and yesterday he said he was already done with his homework. And you've been here for nearly three hours now, and no Stiles."

From Tinge, Derek could feel the edges of Stiles when he was at home. He'd been asleep when Derek got to work, awake for the last two hours, and had left home and the range that Derek could find him in half an hour before. "His dad learned a lot last night. He might not be _allowed_ to come see me."

Cara's pain echoed his own. She pushed him around until she could lean against his other side so he could draw while she cuddled him.

Then, to show her love, she criticized his technique.

Most of the time, Derek honestly couldn't remember why she was his favorite.

\-----

Shortly after noon, Derek could feel Stiles again. Just a vague impression of distance and presence at first, but it grew stronger; the feel of mate becoming recognizably Stiles, then swelling into warmth-worry-nerves-excitement.

He waited until the impression of Stiles was within a mile before leaning around the wall to call back to Cara, who'd abruptly decided to clean the back in a bid for something that would let her move around. "Stiles is on his way in, I'm heading across the street for drinks. Want anything?"

"My normal, thanks," she chirped, affection and happiness chasing the words. Then confusion. "Wait. How do you know that?"

He pretended like he hadn't heard her over the bell.

\-----

Derek was leaning against the counter waiting for the drinks when Stiles walked in with all his red hoodied glory and made a beeline for him, slumping against his side. "You could have waited over at Tinge," Derek huffed, but he could feel Stiles' smile like it was his own. Knew _exactly_ how little Stiles was buying his show of exasperation.

"You could've _not_ run off right when I got here," Stiles countered. Which answered the question of whether feeling the where of each other went both ways.

Still. "I didn't _run off_ ," he protested, right as the barista slid Derek's second drink across the counter at him with an irritable, "Here's the hot chocolate."

Derek blinked at her, trying to figure out what, exactly, he'd done. She'd been cheerful and friendly when he ordered, and when she handed over Cara's americano. What--

At his side, Stiles bit his lip against a laugh that felt as baffled as it was amused.

Stiles. Stiles had come in, and curled up against his side like he belonged there. (Which he did.)

Derek sighed and paid a bit more attention to what she was doing as she made _his_ drink, just in case.

He didn't need to, and by the time she handed the last drink over she was smiling again, if wryly. She was getting a fantastic tip the next time he came in on her shift.

Stiles grabbed his drink and Cara's before Derek could and headed for the door, bouncing lightly on his toes while he waited for Derek to catch up. They were barely out the doors before Stiles was asking, "Do you have anything scheduled today? I mean, soon. Cara too, I guess. Or--" He huffed and Derek's gut twisted with the feel of Stiles' nervy anxiety. "I need to steal you for a bit. Not for the reasons I'd prefer. Is that gonna be okay, or--"

"It should be fine," Derek cut in, bringing his free hand to Stiles' back and brushing his thumb back and forth over the tight spot between Stiles' shoulder blades. It worked as well on him as it did on Danielle, just enough tension leaking out that his shoulders at least stopped _looking_ painful. "What's wrong?"

Stiles rolled his eyes and looked around pointedly. It could have just been checking traffic before crossing the street back to Tinge, but it wasn't.

"Fair enough."

\-----

Cara pouted but flopped down behind the register with her coffee and waved them into the back once she'd gotten sufficient hugs of greeting from Stiles. "Fine. Abandon me. See if I care."

It was all show. The scent and feel of her was pure welcome and contentment, happy to have some of her favorite people where she could find them.

That earned a smile from Stiles, at least, and he leaned over to pretend to bite her head before heading back. Because he'd obviously been spending too much time with Derek's family, and particularly Vic and Cara. "Shouldn't be too long. Sorry."

And that was all he said, until Derek plopped himself down on one of the low tables in the very back and tried to look pointedly expectant. 

Stiles pulled Vic's stool over and sat down, not complaining when Derek hooked a foot over his bottom rung. "So. I had to go see Deaton today, 'cause Dad knew something I didn't and I hope you meant it about only wanting to wait for my sake, 'cause otherwise we might be screwed."

Derek blinked and waited, but Stiles didn't seem interested in explaining what any of that _meant_. "That's vague and alarming, Stiles. What does it _mean_?"

"It means I'm apparently supposed to _stop_ feeling you, at some point?" Stiles shrugged, grimacing and-- That was guilt, under the nerves. But then the rest of it was spilling out, almost too fast for him to track. "I knew things got _weaker_ with distance, but it hasn't-- I can feel you _all the time_ , Derek, and Dad said you _can't_ , which makes this whole thing kind of lopsided and unfair and I don't know why, I mean, not really." He stopped to take a breath, but it wasn't long enough for Derek to react. "I kind of know why, but that's now, you know? I didn't before. And I don't _really_ know now but I sort of know, and-- Anyway, Dad and I went to see Deaton which, oh my god, it was so much less awkward with _your_ parents there, I don't know how that's true but it--"

Derek gave Stiles' stool a careful tug closer and poked his nose.

For a moment, the horrific jumble of Stiles' everything across the bond went blank and still in surprise. Derek took advantage of the moment to say, "Breathe."

Exasperation and fondness crept in, and so did the rest of the mess, but it was calmer and softer and Stiles actually did take a moment to just breathe, so Derek was counting it as a win.

"Start again. And try telling it in order this time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another slightly short chapter, and admittedly a little bit of a filler chapter? But I really wanted to work in some more of Tinge and tattoos, as I haven't been able to focus on that for a while. No apologies for the cliffhanger, you'll get your answers next week. ;P
> 
> **Tattoo Artists of the Week** : I've been bad about artists lately, and honestly can't remember if I've linked these yet or not (I need to keep better track...), so have two! [Cebecizade](http://tattrx.tumblr.com/tagged/cebecizade) out of Turkey with some lovely delicate and white work, and [Vincent Hocquet](http://tattrx.tumblr.com/tagged/vincent-hocquet) either in Belgium or travelling, for more stark, geometric work.


	41. building a metaphor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a heads up, there are some manipulative elements in this chapter. Done with all good intention, but that really doesn't mean anything if it's likely to set you off. If you feel I need to warn for this chapter in more depth or detail, _please let me know_ and I will add the necessary notes.

"I couldn't sleep last night," Stiles started, tugging idly at one of his hoodie strings. "I mean, I'd be okay for a little while, then I'd be awake. It was--" He sighed, slumping and jaw tightening, wrapping himself in guilt and confusion. "I was spreading out over my bed while I slept. Kept waking up when I hit the edge and hadn't found you yet."

"Why were you--"

" _Dude_ ," Stiles exploded, all indignation and disbelief. There was a creak from the front loud enough for even Stiles to hear. Cara was leaking concern and curiosity like it was an Olympic sport, but Stiles had already lowered his voice to a hissing whisper. "You feel _miserable_. It's not as bad now, but last night it was all weary and almost, like, sore but in your head, and--" 

He cut off, ducking his head and curling in tight on himself, tangled up in guilt that-- It was different, but Derek couldn't tell _why_. "And?"

"You felt lonely," Stiles muttered, not looking up. "Why didn't you go find someone else to sleep with, or something? I mean. You and Laura did that with me, so..."

Derek pushed gently against Stiles' stool, rocking him into looking up. "It's not-- I don't--" He sighed. Words. "It's-- I don't sleep well, most of the time. It's been better lately but it doesn't-- I'd just keep them up too."

"Then come keep _me_ up."

They both froze, staring at each other, until Stiles cleared his throat loudly and looked away, a flush spreading over his neck and face. "I mean. Just-- Dude, I apparently won't be able to sleep either," he finally settled on, huffing annoyance and turning back to glare at Derek. Which...whatever. The awkward wasn't _his_ fault. "I'll talk with Dad about it, but if neither of us can sleep we might as well watch a movie or something. And maybe you'd be able to sleep with me there. I don't know. My sleeping brain apparently thought that'd fix everything."

It wasn't an unusual feeling, for mates. That didn't make it true.

Still.

"I'll think about it," he promised, because that was all he could do. 'Sore' was a good word for how it felt, when he was left lying in the darkness all night, startling awake whenever he fell asleep enough to feel the nightmares waiting. 

It was a feeling that didn't go away with the morning, unfortunately, and it left him a little slow on the uptake.

"You can feel me when we're both at home," Derek said, and tried to ignore the sudden uptick in Stiles' pulse. "How is that--"

Being able to feel _where_ Stiles, or apparently Derek, was at that distance sort of made sense. His parents could do that, and so could Peter and Tania. But Paul and Niq had the most intense bond for emotional leak, and last he'd heard, even their connection faded into just the sense of where around the five mile mark.

Stiles could apparently feel him past ten.

"Yeeeeah," Stiles drew out, wincing. "I-- Sorry? That's, uh, apparently me again." He exhaled heavily, rubbing a hand over his hair. "You know what a mate bond is supposed to be like, but I don't and-- Apparently, with what my magic is doing, knowing or not knowing affects things. Like, I didn't start feeling the bond until you told me _you_ felt it. Then it was there, in my head, just a couple minutes later."

"But you know now," Derek said, frowning. "You know it shouldn't stretch that far, so--"

Stiles was shaking his head. "Yeah, I know better. And I know I'm not limited to that, and that you feel lonely and miserable sometimes, and I don't know how to intentionally turn it off?" He grimaced. "I don't know if I can make it stop. For now, anyway. And that's. Just. Really--"

Guilt was twisting Stiles' scent again, so Derek huffed and hooked his feet more firmly into Stiles' stool, reeled him in and leaned forward until he could steal a kiss.

He'd meant it to be something soft. A physical echo of his love, the absence of discomfort that even Derek could admit was probably not healthy (he'd worry about it later). 

But one of Stiles' hands was brushing along his jaw and back into his hair, and there was a desperate sort of ache building between them and suddenly breathing didn't seem nearly as important as _tasting_.

He had a hand in Stiles' shirt and couldn't remember how it got there. Stiles' tongue was slick against his own, his hands on either side of Derek's neck now, holding them in place as he pushed forward and--

There was a tug against his legs.

Derek pulled back and looked down, remembering about the wheeled, potentially _mobile_ stool only after he'd seen it. Actually tried to remember if the stools had a wheel lock or not before realizing what _wheeled stool_ meant.

For instance, the fact that he was _at work_.

Stiles was glaring by the time Derek had pulled his focus up again. Glaring and leaning back with his fingers caught under the rim of the stool to keep himself from falling over. Also, not incidentally, drawing the eye down to the semi his jeans and spread legs were doing nothing to hide.

 _Fuck_.

It didn't help that Stiles didn't feel as angry as he was presenting. It just made the glare hot instead of worrying.

Which _was_ worrying, in a different way.

Stiles took a breath, his mouth already moving to shape words, when Cara cut him off, saying "Maybe I should get John's number. I could alternate between calling him and Maria!"

The lingering tug of arousal and want vanished abruptly on both sides of the bond, and Stiles turned to throw an exaggerated grimace at Cara. "Is that really necessary?"

Cara nodded cheerfully from her perch on the consultation counter (and seriously, _how had Derek not heard her climb up there?_ That should have stood out even if he _was_...distracted) and wrinkled her nose at them. "It really, really was."

It was impossible to smell Cara over the intense and very present aura of Stiles, frustrated desire and embarrassment, but he did have a sense of her, weak as it was, if he looked. Apologetic and amused in equal measure with concern and worry.

She seemed to trust them, though. Hopped down off the counter and vanished behind the wall again, once it was obvious they were very definitely no longer in danger of forgetting where they were and doing something that might get Tinge in trouble.

"Your family is the worst," Stiles sighed, and Derek ducked his head to hide a smile. Felt Stiles' amusement at it anyway.

"I think I've been trying to tell you that since the beginning," Derek pointed out, changing the position of his feet so he could pull with one leg and push with the other, rolling Stiles around to sit more next to him.

Stiles rolled his eyes, but didn't protest. (Didn't feel like he _wanted_ to protest, but that was an idea Derek would have to contemplate _later_.)

"We really need to talk about sex soon," Stiles said, matter of fact and grinning at whatever he saw in Derek's face or felt from the bond. "I mean, I don't really _want_ to, because I think it's gonna be awkward as hell, but I think it might be necessary for my sanity."

Derek nodded. Or at least, he thought he was. Between the kissing and Cara and the topic change, reality felt a little detached and surreal. "Phones," he said, as though that made sense.

Apparently it was good enough, because Stiles laughed, amused and wry, and was nodding when he started talking again. "Oh yeah. I don't think we'd actually _talk_ otherwise."

"No," Derek agreed, smiling at how Stiles perked up and focused, waiting for the punchline he could feel coming. "And we'd probably get interrupted before we could actually do anything _else_."

Stiles laughed, loud and disbelieving and so bright it almost hurt.

Derek was just glad he could joke about sex and mean it.

"Backing up to what was bugging you," Derek started, hesitating a moment to let Stiles nod his agreement and understanding. "Is it the emotional leaking that's the problem, or the fact that it's uneven?"

"Mostly just the uneven," he admitted with a shrug, a defiant trace of pepper sneaking into his scent. "I mean. I have been doing _way_ too much reading about relationship issues and how to identify unhealthy ones lately, and I get that that's probably not what _should_ be bugging me, but--"

"So you'll feel better when it fixes itself and evens out?"

Stiles stopped, his entire body going still (and slightly off balance. Derek moved his free foot back to the bottom rung of the stool to keep it steady) as he processed what Derek had said.

But he'd already answered. The tied-up feeling in his brain loosened, exchanging the choking-guilt that had crept in around the edges for a guilty sort of hope. 

Because he was right. This wasn't healthy or sane, but it seemed to be where they were going.

"What do you mean?" Stiles settled on, after a moment. "Deaton didn't say anything about the bond needing fixing. He made it sound like my magic did something weird."

The thing was, Alan was probably right, and it was more likely than not that he'd been honest with Stiles. But he had different motivations than Derek did. And what Derek wanted, right then, was for Stiles to feel better. 

Derek shrugged, taking a moment to pull his thoughts into order and figure out the wording he needed. "Mate bonds are reciprocal. You can't have a one sided bond, it just doesn't work. So it's your magic affecting the bond, not replacing it."

It was all true, and Stiles was nodding along with him, but frowning. "Yeah, I know that. But--"

"They're reciprocal," Derek repeated, building an image in his head. Two lines, side by side, with a network of webs developing between them as they extended out. "One side can't take or give more without the other side doing the same."

Stiles stared at him, but didn't feel like anything but relief and concentration. Derek made the lines do a few tricks while he waited, turning one red and having it veer off with the web stretching out until the second line was pulled back into place by the tension.

"So..."

Derek shrugged. "So if your side is doing something mine isn't, mine will adjust to match."

It was like lying to his uncle Peter, really. Talking about something else entirely was out, Peter always managed to ask the most obnoxiously astute questions. Vague wording didn't work for the same reasons.

Building a metaphor to talk about, though. That worked. And Stiles' magic worked based on what he knew, or thought he knew.

(Besides, Derek actually did think it was probably true. He just didn't _know_.)

It was worth the attempt for the way Stiles smiled at him, sheepish and relieved and just as uncertain about the whole thing as Derek felt.

"Better?" Derek asked, half teasing, and leaned away when Stiles swatted at the air near his shoulder. "I'll take that as a yes. Is there anything else?"

If he didn't have a feed straight through to Stiles' head, he'd have missed the hesitation before Stiles tried to shrug the question off. "Nah."

"Uh-huh." Derek leaned back against his hands and waited.

He was impressed. Stiles actually held out for a solid minute and a half before sighing heavily and glaring at Derek. "You're annoying."

"I know," Derek agreed with a smirk. "So what's--"

"I'm kind of sick of the mate bond," Stiles blurted and--

No.

It felt like the bottom had dropped out of Derek's reality. The color drained out, leaving a cold, blank white panic that made it hard to--anything. Even the bond was muted, the sudden spike of alarm from Stiles feeling distant and wrong, but-- 

That didn't really matter, did it? If he'd missed _this_ , it didn't--

There was a clatter as Stiles knocked his stool over, eyes wide and stinking of fear. Rejection/negation/refusal scorched across the bond, but not at Derek, at _what he'd been thinking _, and Stiles was abruptly _there_ , latched like a limpet to his side. "No! Shit! _As a topic_. I'm sick of _talking about it_ , oh my god."__

__Derek took a careful breath and closed his eyes, pulling Stiles into a proper hug and focusing for a moment on the sound of Stiles' heart, the sound of Cara's heart and footsteps as his distress pulled her in, the sense and knowledge of safety and pack and belonging, and the fact that he wasn't losing it._ _

__He'd get the static out of his head eventually. He would._ _

__Really._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important note: I will do my best, but I can not promise I'll have chapters for the next two weeks. This is going to be a grueling week at work, I will be attending my primary beta's wedding party next weekend (during my primary writing time, now that I have a regular work schedule), and the weekend after that? I'll be moving the remainder of my furniture to my new place. Because I'll be packing and moving as much as I can around work and general exhaustion between now and then.
> 
> This is a horrible place to leave off, so I will do my best to be able to keep up with updates. I just don't want to get your hopes up if my life continues its recent spree of epic busy.
> 
> Everything should return to the regularly scheduled updates and insanity by August 26th, at least.
> 
> [August 26th Edit: **I am so sorry**. I still have no internet, I am still exhausted to the point of wanting to cry regularly. I realize most people reading this are probably staring in bafflement at me for feeling like I need to apologize for this, but it means I don't have an update for today and I'm actually really upset about that. Because I said I would.
> 
> I don't want to promise an update for next week, in case my life continues being insane, so here's what I'll do instead. The next update **will be on A Monday** , even though I don't know which one. So if you're looking for an update because you can't subscribe through AO3 and/or don't follow me on tumblr, you can rest assured you don't need to worry about the other six days. I will post to tumblr when I have the update posted, however. So if you follow me there (there's a link down in the end-of-story notes, I think), you'll get an update on your dash.
> 
> In other news, this story is now officially a year old. I never wanted this to happen, but oh well. My new goal will be to finish it before the date I first started posting it. Sometime in October, I think. *sigh* ]


	42. improper use of ice cream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahahaahah, finally. Thank you all for being so astonishingly patient. <3

"Okay," Cara sighed after a short eternity of hugging. "I have a shop to run still. _You_ have a mate to fix," she added, glaring at Stiles, "so I'm shooing him off for a sick day."

"I'm not--"

Cara bit his shoulder, and he shut up with a sigh. She watched him for a moment before nodding, content in his silence, and continuing. "You're not broken-broken, but your brain's a little banged up and in serious need of a band-aid, okay? It's just easier to say fix, so shut up."

He'd been going to say he wasn't sick, but whatever. "I have more consultations scheduled, and that guy with the peacock armband was--"

"I have their phone numbers," Cara interrupted, and there was no give or leeway in her voice.

It was okay because it was Cara. Derek let her pull Stiles up and give him a shove toward the back with orders to grab Derek's stuff. Didn't object when she grabbed his sketchbooks and put them in his bag in all the wrong order while Stiles distracted him by insisting on a jacket. Scribbled him out of the day's schedule for a headache.

"Which is exactly what you're giving me," she explained, shooing them toward the door. "Go find a safe place. Use words. Feel better. Make out if you want, I don't care. Just don't do it _here_."

Then the door was closed behind them, and Stiles felt the same sort shocked, harried echo of confusion that Derek did.

"What just happened?" Stiles scrunched his face up, but snagged one of Derek's hands in his own and started walking. Hopefully toward his Jeep.

"Cara," was the only honest answer, and it had the bonus of making Stiles laugh. Which was good, because, "Weren't we supposed to _not_ be spending time alone?"

Stiles glanced over, brain churning and eyes assessing behind the concern he was pulsing with. "Trust me?"

"Yeah."

That didn't even require thought.

\-----

They didn't go to the Jeep. 

Stiles was quiet while they walked, the skin of his hand hot in Derek's and the pink in his cheeks related more to wind and temperature than Derek, for once. His eyes kept moving, dodging and darting up over the buildings then down the street and over to check on traffic.

He felt...jittery. Emotions rocketing around too fast for Derek to get a bead on, nerves ratcheted up and only about three steps shy of fight or flight. 

It was hard to anchor on something moving that fast. Something that conflicted. That ready to run.

Someone else was running. Darting around the two of them in her sprint for the bus.

A block or two down, someone else had a window open, sharing a Bee Gees song with the street.

There were children whining, engines rumbling, something burning in a cafe or something a block over, too many radio stations to count and about six million perfumes lingering and--

Stiles tugged firmly on his hand and they were moving to the side, a door closing between them and the world and--

It wasn't _quiet_ , but it was suddenly a lot harder to hear anything else.

Derek blinked at the freezers lining the storefront, buzzing away in steady companionship.

"Do you like chocolate?"

Derek blinked at Stiles, and tried to make sense of the world while Stiles shrugged and turned back toward the freezers. "Bad day. We'll just take one custard and one chocolate."

The man behind the freezers had a quirk to his lip that looked amused as he bent to--

"Ice cream?"

Stiles snorted and freed his hand to count out enough bills to cover the tab, which--was probably for the best, considering. He left the money on the counter and the man just glanced over to give it a nod before handing Stiles the two cones.

"Isn't it too cold for ice cream?"

The noise Stiles made wasn't exactly a snort. It was too drawn out and outraged to be classified so simply. "No such thing."

Derek wasn't so sure. Why did he need his jacket if it wasn't too cold for ice cream? He took the cone of chocolate Stiles pushed at him anyway and trailed after Stiles out of the store, trying to sort out the question in his head. How the words worked. "I-- For people who aren't you, would that be--"

"Maybe," Stiles interrupted, "but they're wrong." He sounded arch and dismissive. Smelled like giddy good humor.

It made something in Derek relax, though he didn't know why. Everything was still too pale in his head, but the warm splashes of Stiles' affection and chatter kept appearing and spreading. It left the inside of his head kind of...pastel, but he wasn't complaining. It was better than white.

Stiles turned them at the end of the block, and Derek felt a smirk building. "We're going to the park?"

Not their park, where their families spent the summers and Stiles had claimed a table reminded him of Laura. The smaller, busier one just outside Beacon Hills' semblance of a downtown.

Stiles hummed agreement, traces of smug working their way through the bond and-- 

And smug smelled _so much better_ on Stiles than it did on Peter. Sharp and sweet, somewhere unnamable between copper and cedar.

"Yeah," Stiles agreed, pulling Derek's focus out into the world again. Which was for the best, since he'd already started leaning in for a better whiff. "Based on the evidence so far, I think I'm going to be the genius figuring out how to be alone without actually being alone." Stiles felt like he was joking, but Derek didn't disagree. The hint of banter vanished though, the feel of Stiles sliding back toward concern "You okay? Or, I mean. Uh, better."

Derek hummed agreement, because it was accurate enough. It was hard to panic about the love of his life leaving him to an empty eternity when Stiles was holding his hand and insisting on buying him ice cream.

(The static was still there. Lingering at the edges like the worst kind of promise, just waiting for an opportunity to flow back in and drown everything.)

Stiles nodded, but it seemed to be reflexive. It looked like his attention was wandering, but the focus of whatever his brain was doing was sharp enough to cut. It crystallized and broke, then Stiles was tugging Derek over toward a bench on the far side of the playground.

"This looks like the best we're going to get, for avoiding prying, non-supernatural ears," Stiles said before dropping down on one side of the bench and licking a blatantly obscene stripe up one side of his cone. 

Fuck.

"...nnh." Derek sat next to him, barely managing more than a controlled fall himself.

Stiles almost choked on his ice cream, bringing the back of one hand up to wipe at his mouth before glaring at Derek (not that the glare or the hand did anything to hide the sudden flush in his cheeks, or the spike of apple-musk-spice in his scent). " _Dude_. Really?"

Keeping his eyes on Stiles', Derek flicked his tongue over the top of his own cone and smirked as Stiles almost choked again, this time on air. "Oh my god, we should not be allowed to eat ice cream around children."

Derek snorted agreement and took a pointed bite off the top of his cone while Stiles wasn't looking. It at least looked a _little_ less suggestive that way.

He was just glad Stiles had put them next to the merry-go-round. The kids were mostly on the other side of the play area, clustered around the swings and slide. Which...

"We should be fine here," Derek offered, turning away as Stiles gave in to the delusion that practically _fellating_ his ice cream cone was a good way to deal with the problem. "As long as we keep our voices down and don't draw too much attention to ourselves."

It was Stiles' turn to snort and Derek looked back just in time to see Stiles wiping most of a stray drip from the corner of his mouth, most of his ice cream abruptly gone. Jesus. "Right. No sex on the bench, then."

Derek scrubbed a hand over his face and wondered if he was ever going to get _that_ particular image out of his head.

"Okay, look," Stiles said, balling up the wrapper from his cone and fucking hell, where had the rest of it _gone_? But Stiles was still talking. "I'm sick of talking about the bond and everybody talking like it's something that needs to be _fixed_ when it's not... I'm about ready to tell everybody where to stuff it, okay?"

"It's not--"

"And I'm sorry," Stiles cut in over him, blushing again and-- Guilt. Why-- "That wasn't a slip of the tongue back at Tinge. Or, well, it was but it's one I put some thought into. I needed to see-- I didn't think it would be _that bad_." It sounded like the words were being punched out of Stiles, his voice gone thin and feeble. And it hurt. It hurt like it had back at Tinge, but it wasn't _Derek's_ this time, but an echo back of what Stiles had felt, and fuck. "And I'm sorry for it, but I'm not sorry I did it, because I'm pretty sure people are either lying to us or don't know what they're talking about, because if anybody thinks I can walk away from you when it does _that_ , they're delusional."

Derek stared at the ice cream cone still in his hand. It was starting to melt, but he didn't think he could open his jaw around the mess of pain and relief and anger in his head in order to take care of it.

That wasn't going to end well, if they recovered from this conversation.

Stiles was still sitting quietly next to him, though. A constant pulse of guilt and apology and stubborn and love and they were a _mess_ , weren't they.

"Here," Derek finally settled on, shoving the ice cream in Stiles' direction. "Eat that while I figure my head out."

That was about the most mature and practical he was capable of being, honestly.

It was a lot better than what he _wanted_ to do, which was upend the damn thing right in Stiles' lap.

\-----

It felt like it'd been too long since he'd done this.

Derek let himself get lost in a twisting line, let it curl back on itself and fold and fold again until it was almost an impression of petals. Almost. Not quite.

The line wasn't anything. It was the sound of the need for oil in the merry-go-round, from when some of the better bundled up kids had made a go of establishing their kingdom there before getting bored and moving on to the tires. 

He could let it be a flower if he wanted, but he liked it as a sound.

Stiles shifted against his side, one foot curled up under his other leg and head resting on Derek's shoulder as he read. Because he still wasn't allowed to draw, but that didn't mean Derek could afford to stop.

Derek started another line. Let it curve with the rhythm of Stiles' heart.

\-----

Stiles flailed when Derek leaned forward to grab his bag, barely catching his book before it hit the grass. "Whu-- Oh, uh."

He yawned, making a small sound of protest when his jaw popped, and Derek smirked down at his hands as he put his sketchbook away. "You fell asleep."

"Yeah. I, uh, got that." Stiles smashed a hand against his face then stretched his arms up over his head before letting them flop dramatically down. "So..."

"I think I can talk now." Derek reached over and poked Stiles' side before he could respond. "Maybe we could go for a drive? You're shivering."

"That's because I just woke up," Stiles grumbled, but it didn't feel like a real protest and he didn't resist when Derek offered him a hand up.

Didn't let go of his hand when they started walking.

\-----

The Jeep, Derek realized, was probably where they should have _all_ their arguments. 

Stiles' hands were limited, but not still. His gestures reined in by the need to shift gears and steer, but not stopped. Driving meant that his eyes were mostly focused forward, scanning traffic and checking for danger. It gave Derek scenery to turn to, if watching Stiles became too much.

It didn't do anything for the fact that one of them had to _start_ , so it took a few minutes of heavy silence before Derek sighed and said "Why."

Beginnings sucked.

Stiles' fingers tightened around the wheel, but he felt more like resignation than anger and he still reeked of guilt. "Because your parents and Deaton keep saying that we need to not complete the bond, because otherwise we won't be able to break it without permanent damage, and I wasn't sure I bought that. And now I really don't because that? That felt like it'd be pretty damn scarring, long term."

Derek waited. It wasn't long before Stiles exhaled sharply and rolled his shoulders as much as he could, while keeping control of the wheel. "I knew it was a shitty thing to do going in, but I needed to know. And I'm sorry. I'm just--"

"You want a reason to think the bond is inevitable," Derek cut in, and didn't stop at Stiles' indignant noise. "You want to take the guesswork out of it, and just trap both of us in something--"

"Something that both of us apparently want bad enough that we're distorting reality to get it?"

Derek closed his eyes against the steady shift of sidewalk, grass and asphalt flowing past as Stiles meandered toward the edges of town. Stiles wasn't wrong. 

He wasn't right, either, and they weren't going to get anywhere like this. The whole discussion needed reframing.

_It means age,_ he remembered, _and the effect that life has on the skin._

"Tattoos are permanent," Derek said, pausing and swearing at himself in his head when he realized he had the thought but not the _words for it_ yet. It felt like Stiles had plenty of words lined up behind his teeth, but he waited, thumbs beating out a rhythm against the wheel that was more nerves than impatience.

"There is tattoo removal," Derek tried again, opening his eyes so he could keep tabs on Stiles' expression. "You mentioned that, back when we first met." The first time he got Stiles' name, at least. "But the expectation is that a tattoo is going to be part of you forever. So it's permanent."

"This feels like a conversation we've already had," Stiles offered when Derek paused to consider his wording.

And really, it was the perfect opening. "It is. You said that for tattoos, permanence had to do with age and the effect life had on the skin. Remember?" Stiles nodded, even though he still felt thoroughly confused. "Think of the mate bond the same way."

Stiles' face scrunched up, expression caught somewhere between confusion and distaste. "I don't think I need to worry about you leaving me if I get wrinkles. That would be kind of--"

"Think harder than that," Derek drawled, slumping down in his seat. "Take a day if you need to, or a week, but--"

"Really think about it," Stiles sighed. "Yeah, I got it."

It was good enough for the moment, the tension in the bond easing to something tolerable again.

And for the longer term, well. At least he had more time to figure out words, now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tattoo artist of the week:** [Tomas Tomas](http://tattrx.tumblr.com/tagged/tomas-tomas), in London England, with some astonishing geometrics. There is some nsfw on this link, so be warned.
> 
> And again, thank you all so much for being so patient and so amazingly supportive. The good news is that all evidence suggests that I've found a new rhythm and will be able to start up weekly updates again.


	43. Did you forget to breathe?

Amazingly, the front yard was empty when Stiles drove him home. There were enough cars to suggest almost everyone was home, but still. No terrors running out to greet them, no Laura looking for material to tease him with, no parents being quietly judgmental after a phone call from Cara. 

The last one wasn't horribly likely anyway, but still.

"I'll see you--" Stiles trailed off with a groan, rubbing a hand against his forehead. "Tuesday, probably. I've got my first lesson with Deaton tomorrow and Dad should be home for dinner. I'll text though. Maybe we can have that horribly awkward talk."

"Don't say things like that where my family can hear you," Derek sighed. "I'm working late tomorrow anyway so--"

Stiles snorted. "So we'd just be at Tinge. Like _that's_ a hardship." Which--fair. But Stiles wasn't waiting for a response. "I'm not sure what kind of schedule the magic thing's going to take, yet. So."

Derek nodded and got out of the Jeep, and smirked when Stiles' surprised disappointment flickered immediately into suspicion, then bloomed into delight when he realized Derek was walking around to his side of the car. "Have a good night, Stiles."

"It's still early," Stiles protested. It didn't stop him from practically leaning out his window and clenching a fist in Derek's shirt, though.

\-----

It wasn't quite so early when he finally made his way inside, though it wasn't late. The weird thing was that his family still hadn't made an appearance to mock him.

There didn't seem to be a reason for it, either. His mother was sprawled out on one of the couches in the main room, half asleep with her head in Tania's lap and her feet in Grandmother Hale's. Greg was in the reinforced playpen happily chewing on a stuffed fish (or he had been, until he caught sight or scent of Derek and threw the fish at him in excitement), and he could hear Niq and Paul upstairs, hopefully not trying for their third. (There were some family traditions that really didn't need continuing.)

It did explain why Olivia had Erin drooling against her shoulder, though.

Derek picked the fish up and returned it to Greg before sitting on the floor at Tania's feet and leaning in against her legs. "Where's Matt?" he asked, because that would probably answer where Laura was as well. Peter was working, and the terrors were back in the kittens' room listening to Derek's father read a story.

"Laura took him to the library," Tania offered, smiling when Maria interrupted, sounding drowsy and blissed out and smug "He wanted a book on cat behavior."

Of course he did.

Derek hummed understanding and debated his options for about half a second before twisting around to face his mother and saying "So, Stiles can feel me when we're both at home."

He _was_ a Hale, even if he was usually a quiet one.

His mother spluttered and twitched, contorting until her face was smashed against Tania's knee so she could glare at him with one sleepy red eye. "What."

Even from ten inches away, it was more adorable than intimidating, alpha or not

Derek shrugged. "Emotional bleed, not just a sense of where I am. We can test it later, but there doesn't seem to be a limit on it so far. He's already gone to see Alan. It'll be fine."

His mother groaned and tried to crawl _under_ Tania's lap, despite the agitated swats it earned her from her chosen shelter. (She didn't really mind. Derek didn't have that great of a read on Tania, but Greg's was perfect and Greg just laughed and threw his fish again. Which was apparently going to be a thing.)

(True to form, Olivia just laughed at all of them. She just did it softly enough to let Erin sleep through it.)

\-----

His mom didn't make it to dinner. She snatched a few bites from the stove while Derek, Laura, and Olivia were cooking and went to bed early. Which was just as well, since Greg suddenly decided he hated carrots and clawed the table up before Tania could lift him out of the way.

It'd be easier to let her grumble about it in the morning. Especially, in Derek's opinion, since he'd probably get to sleep through it.

He volunteered to take the first half of the patrol with Grandmother Hale. It let his dad get a nap in, gave his mom a full night's sleep, and he was looking forward to the opportunity to sleep in. Which he wasn't going to get if he wasn't _physically_ tired enough to keep the nightmares at bay, no matter how exhausted his brain was.

Olivia let him take the long circuit two times out of three, and he had to push himself to actually make the crossover points to check in. By the time his father came out to relieve him, he probably could have passed out on a tree branch.

He didn't dream.

\-----

He woke up to a few texts from Stiles, just random thoughts that ended abruptly with _Omg forgot ur working l8r 2nit. U asleep?_

Derek poked at his phone, idly scrolling up and down the string of messages before realizing the messages were all within half an hour of each other, and stopped just after eight.

Good thing he'd turned the phone off.

He fired back a message of _Up now_ and went to shower. 

It was weird, not having to work around someone else in the bathroom. Not to hear the rustle and clatter and squabble he associated with his family in the mornings. Late as it was, the house was mostly (but not fully. not ever fully, ever again.) deserted. Between school, work, patrol and sleeping in (or just plain sleeping, in Olivia's case), it was just Peter, Gwen and Greg awake downstairs.

Weird, but not alarming. It would probably be more normal to wake up to this kind of quiet if Derek wasn't the only employee at Tinge who _liked_ the early shifts.

Derek waited until he'd landed downstairs, fully dressed and intent on food, before checking for Stiles' response. Walked into the kitchen still grinning at the _As I go into eng ntrly_.

The suspicion that Stiles probably forgot to turn his phone off more often than not really, really shouldn't have made it _more_ tempting to shoot him another text. Or ten.

"You're in good spirits this morning," Peter drawled, setting a skillet aside into the drying rack and reaching for another. "There's a plate on the counter. Nothing special, just--"

"Just what everyone else didn't eat, from the gigantic breakfast buffets you've been making lately?" Derek suggested, rolling his eyes. He found the plate easily enough. It was _piled_ with food.

Peter shrugged, his scent softening when the movement made Greg flail and squeal happily from the harness on his back. "Well, you tried to show me up with cinnamon rolls."

Gwen snorted a giggle, but was _very focused_ on whatever Peter had her reading by the time Derek turned around. 

Derek rolled his eyes again and rolled up a piece of ham to bite in half. "I wasn't showing you up," he explained (again), with exaggerated patience. "I couldn't sleep, and baking was just something to do."

"A likely story," Peter sniffed, exchanging conspiratorial winks with Gwen that he had to know Derek could see perfectly well.

"The fact that I know how to bake _at all_ is your fault anyway," Derek grumbled, eating the rest of his ham and retreating to the table.

It was a whole six feet away, but it was the thought that counted.

\-----

The day stretched painfully. There weren't many texts from Stiles, and eventually Derek just put his phone in the register drawer to keep himself from checking it all the time. He was _actually draining the battery_.

He only had one consultation that promised anything interesting. A cow's head down the sternum with horns that stretched out under the collar bones, wearing a wreath of flowers and bells. The girl getting it didn't want any color to it, which promised to be a pleasing challenge.

After her was a regular of Vic's, who added a flower to his upper arm every time there was a birth or death in his family. (Close family only, he joked, because otherwise he'd look like a circus act. He was already running out of room on the arm itself. Half their meeting that day had been discussing where to spread to next; shoulder, forearm, chest, back, or other arm?) Then it was one of Cara's clients, in to complain about the artwork she'd approved and sat for and now didn't like anymore.

To Vic. On one of Cara's days off. Because she didn't know Cara's schedule (lie) and she didn't like confrontation (bullshit, but not a lie) and didn't really think it was her _place_ to upset an artist and---

Derek turned up the music, propped the front door open, and tried to focus on the rhythm and traffic instead of the way Vic's pulse was slowly creeping up back in the office.

If the woman actually preferred to avoid confrontation, she'd picked the wrong owner to vent at. Cara would have actually been sympathetic and upset and wanted to make it better.

Vic just went straight to fury, no matter how good she was at keeping wraps on it (to other humans, at least).

Eventually the woman left, confident her complaint had been heard and possibly actually believing something was going to get done about it. (Or maybe she really did just need to vent about her own poor decision making. Derek didn't know.) Vic slipped out the back to, from the sound of it, kick a dumpster a few times before stalking off.

She came back about half an hour later with a handful of flowers and a takeout bag from the nearest Chinese place. The one his dad hated, but the one that most of the rest of the pack thought was the only place that made lemon chicken right.

Vic was in that camp, thankfully.

"Figured this'd help with the smell," she offered, sounding tired as she gestured vaguely with the flowers and dropped the food off just behind the wall. "I'll stick these in the office, then we can bitch about idiots and eat fried food."

Derek wasn't going to complain. 

\-----

Derek was washing his hands after taking the trash out back when he realized his sense of Stiles had moved.

Stiles-at-school was mostly either bored-irritated-impatient or focused-curious (sometimes focused-curious-irritated, or just focused-irritated). Right then, Stiles was a blend of the two, impatient but focused, curious and irritated and--mostly, in the wrong direction to still be at school.

He was seeing Alan after school, he'd said, and the time lined up with that. But the day before, Derek hadn't been able to feel where he was, when he was at Alan's, let alone what he was feeling.

It was probably a bad sign, but it left a warm feeling curling in his chest anyway.

Derek fished his phone out of the register. One new message. _Free from schl! Now..other schl! Fk_ from Stiles.

He didn't bother trying to bite back the smile he could feel building. Replied with _SCHOOL should teach spelling. Also can feel you right now. Couldn't yesterday when you were there._

It was only a few minutes before his phone buzzed again. _U dn't usually spl that much btr. Deatn says of course and also stop distractng Stils_

Another text arrived almost before he'd finished reading the first one.

_I dont thnk u shld stop_

The warm feeling in his chest went squishy. Like it was bleeding, but in a good way.

All the same, he didn't text back.

\-----

Derek wasn't scheduled to close on Tuesday, but he was still working well past when school let out. 

Monday's routine worked just as well for a slightly earlier start. He helped with the patrol and worked himself to passing out as best he could (Olivia was built for speed. Derek was _not_ , and keeping up with her was harder than it should have been). It was Paul's day to stay home, but otherwise the morning was much the same.

Two of his texts from Stiles that morning had been a simple _Brain so tired. More Deatn aftr schl. Ugh_ followed by _Off at 9? Call after. Abt that stuff_

He shot back _Thnk we can stay on topic?_ and pretended his pulse didn't kick up a notch when Stiles replied with just _No_

How, exactly, was he supposed to get through the work day with _that_ in mind?

\-----

He was supposed to get through it on fond irritation and tedium, apparently. Much as he liked Tony, the man was a disaster when it came to keeping the back organized and he'd been the only one in the shop that morning when they got a new set of inks delivered.

Reorganizing the inks and other supplies barely filled the day around three consultations that were mostly _Yeah, that thing you did that we talked about exhaustively about is good. Let's schedule._

He did finish off the initial sketch for the kitsch roses, though, and fired off an e-mail to Lenore that she could come in to see it, and make another appointment.

In his free time, he drew a couple of morose bats fluttering around acid-trip cabbage roses. It'd either make Vic laugh or be horrified for a few minutes.

So. Win/win.

\-----

He would have liked the comfort that came with elevation. With having the high ground, and preferably the home field advantage of seeking out the ancient walnut tree he visited most, when he needed to think. But sound tended to carry more from the tree tops than it did from the forest floor, and being overheard by someone out for a run was something he didn't want to think about, let alone risk _happening_. So instead of making for his favorite tree, Derek found a felled trunk that hadn't quite graduated to nurse log yet, not too far from the main road along the edge of the preserve.

Plenty of sound dampening, a ready source of white noise, and enough debris that he'd probably hear an intruder before they realized there was someone sneak up on at all. Good enough.

Derek settled in and dialed. Wondered how Stiles felt about dirt and leaf litter and twigs as the phone started to ring.

"Hey," Stiles answered on the second ring, sounding happy but tired. "You at home?"

"No," he snorted. "Still a few miles out."

There was a pause, then "So, what. You're just...sitting in the woods somewhere?"

"Yup."

"Kinky."

Derek spluttered and tried not to flush, even though Stiles was miles away and couldn't see it. It was hard, though, with his laughter rich in Derek's ear.

"Oh my god, that was priceless."

"I had been thinking about what you'd think about just sitting around on the forest floor before you picked up," Derek drawled, trying to force composure and control back into his voice. "I guess now I know."

It was Stiles' turn for spluttering, Or at least, indignant squawking around laughter he couldn't quite keep under control.

"Anyway," Derek continued, once Stiles had calmed down a little, "I think you wanted to talk about sex." And he could feel it, the sudden shift in Stiles' mood from hilarity to something warm and wanting and wistful. Because, he assumed, they both knew they actually needed to _talk_.

"Ugh. Yeah. You know, combining the words 'phone' and 'sex' used to have much happier connotations for me."

"Stiles."

"Right," Stiles muttered. "So. Obviously. I want to have sex." Derek slapped a hand over his eyes and apparently successfully bit back the whimper that thought prompted, because Stiles just kept going. "And while I think you do too, you also want to not have sex, and that makes things kind of confusing and frustrating, so I figured we should try using words, horrible as they are. Because pressuring somebody for sex is wrong and bad but I'm worried I'm bad at not doing that, so I need help."

There was an audible inhale at the end of that, and Derek felt himself smiling. "Did you forget to breathe?"

"Shut up," Stiles groaned, a soft thump in the background confirming Derek's assumption that Stiles was in his room. Probably on his bed.

Fuck.

"Seriously, though," Stiles' voice broke through again. "I'm pretty sure you're okay with kissing, because you start it a lot of the time. And obviously cuddling and hugging, since that's, like, a family addiction or something. And grinding in the kitchen would have been not good, and so was the awesome kissing at Tinge, so--" Derek wasn't sure if he could _feel_ Stiles' thoughts grinding along or if it was just growing familiarity. "Is it actually what we were doing, or where we were doing it?"

Technically, the answer was yes. But. "To be honest, when we get like that, I tend to forget where we are," he drawled, smiling when Stiles gave a frustrated little groan. "It's not-- I'm not worried about it affecting the bond. That's not the problem."

"No, I kinda figured that," Stiles agreed. "I was guessing Kate."

It felt a bit like getting kicked, but it was still better than it used to be. "I know the situations are different, that _we're_ different, but--"

"But there's a similarity, and it's the one most people would be most focused on and the whole thing was traumatizing, if your reactions are anything to go from," Stiles listed off, calmly and fast paced. Like he didn't need to think about it. Anymore, at least. "I mean, correct me if I've got any of that wrong, but I started thinking about it when my dad warned me off pressuring you and I haven't really stopped yet. So, y'know."

"So what..."

"Dude, I just want an idea of what's going to set you off." There was a pause, and a rustle of fabric. "In a bad way, anyway."

Derek let that thought settle for a moment, still trying to get over the fact that he'd prepared for entirely the wrong conversation. "So you want, what, a set of ground rules?"

"I'm guessing no nakedness is kind of a given," Stiles agreed in an obnoxiously cheerful voice, for the thought he'd just planted. "And partial naked, since there's no real excuse for it anymore aside from ogling and touching, and, hey," the tone of his voice took a sudden turn for baffled concern. "We're having an unseasonal cold snap and you're just chilling out in the woods somewhere?"

He wasn't going to ask if that was an intentional pun or not. He wasn't. "The cold doesn't bother me much."

"That explains so much about you and jackets and ice cream."

Derek barked a laugh, and smiled when the warm feeling in his chest got a definite echo back. Weak, but there. "Yeah."

"So. Rules?"

"I don't know," Derek answered honestly. "I'll have to think about it."

More fabric shuffling, and a sigh. "Yeah, should've expected that."

"What's your schedule like?"

A snort, sudden enough to blast static at Derek's ear. "In direct opposition to yours. I can drop by Tinge tomorrow for a while, but I have school homework _and_ magic homework, and I don't think I'd be able to focus on either at the shop."

"I think I'm supposed to approve," Derek sighed. "But I don't, really."

That at least got Stiles laughing. "Hey, the sooner I get the magic homework done, the sooner Deaton lets up on my spare time."

"Yeah, but--"

"I miss you too."

The call helped, but his phone didn't smell like Stiles. "Yeah."

Silence hung between them for a few moments, but-- It wasn't awkward. It felt right, somehow.

"Soooooo," Stiles drew out, lingering on the vowel until Derek was desperately trying not to picture it. "What're you wearing?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this updated a little later than usual. We had some health fun this week (enigmatic roommate, not me) and some technical difficulties last night while we were arguing about the last round of edits.
> 
> No tattoo link also, because I'm updating from a coffee shop. I did _just_ finish the last round of additions enigmatic roommate wanted, so I apologize if I also added any typos or other errors.


	44. That's new

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week's chapter picks up right where the last one left off, which was mid-conversation. So in the interests of not making you skip back a chapter to catch up...
>
>> "What's your schedule like?"
>> 
>> A snort, sudden enough to blast static at Derek's ear. "In direct opposition to yours. I can drop by Tinge tomorrow for a while, but I have school homework _and_ magic homework, and I don't think I'd be able to focus on either at the shop."
>> 
>> "I think I'm supposed to approve," Derek sighed. "But I don't, really."
>> 
>> That at least got Stiles laughing. "Hey, the sooner I get the magic homework done, the sooner Deaton lets up on my spare time."
>> 
>> "Yeah, but--"
>> 
>> "I miss you too."
>> 
>> The call helped, but his phone didn't smell like Stiles. "Yeah."
>> 
>> Silence hung between them for a few moments, but-- It wasn't awkward. It felt right, somehow.
>> 
>> "Soooooo," Stiles drew out, lingering on the vowel until Derek was desperately trying not to picture it. "What're you wearing?"

"You're not funny."

"I'm _hilarious_ ," Stiles replied solemnly.

Derek turned the thought over in his head. Looking for the trigger. Looking for the bomb.

The thing was, Stiles wasn't being serious. There was a splash of wistful hope in the weak impression the bond gave him, but mostly he was getting humor and levity and fond. 

He didn't have to be either. "The same thing I wear every night."

A flash of shock, then a laugh that overloaded the speaker again. "Oh my god, _no_. I refuse to be the Pinky in this relationship."

Derek grinned into the receiver. "I'm surprised you got the reference."

"Animaniacs forever," Stiles intoned, then ruined it by laughing again. "But yeah, anyw--"

There was someone there.

Derek felt Stiles flash with a muted echo of his own alarm but lost track of the words that went with it as he turned and--

It was a bird.

There was a _bird_ there, not a person.

"I'm fine," he sighed into the phone. "Hold on, I need to..." 

Stiles was silent over the line, which was close enough to agreement. Derek brought the phone down for a bit and just let himself listen. Look. Smell. _Feel_.

The birds were gone, startled away by his reaction to them, and the woods were clear. Of humans, anyway. There were more birds, or the same birds, up hiding in the trees now, and all sorts of life that he didn't really need to be listening to.

Nature did not know the meaning of TMI.

"Stiles?"

"Yeah, still here," came the response, sounding just as irritable and worried as Stiles felt.

Derek nodded and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry. I just--" He sighed and admitted, "It was a bird."

A long pause, then, "A bird?" He made some sort of noise, or Stiles could just feel the agreement, because he went on with "A bird. A bird just scared you."

"It was just movement," Derek explained, even though the hilarity building across the bond was pulling his face into smiling. "I wasn't paying attention, and I thought there was someone standing behind me."

It sounded like Stiles held the phone away from his head this time while he laughed. Which was good. It let Derek hear it without a lot of static.

"Oh man, I'm sorry," Stiles' voice came back, wheezing and a little tinny at first like he'd started talking before the phone was back at his head. "I should not laugh at that, but-- I mean, you're kinda laughing at it, so..."

"It's fine, Stiles."

Derek smiled at the grumbly noise Stiles made. "It isn't always. You should be encouraging me in my efforts to be a more mature and responsible adult."

"Go do your homework."

"Not like that."

"Well you aren't technically an adult yet," Derek pointed out.

Stiles groaned. "Believe me, I know. Dad's been _very clear_ on that subject." Another pause, then, "I'm trying to be good. That's not natural, for me."

Derek hummed, not even trying to hold back the teasing affection he felt. "I know."

"I think I should feel insulted by that," Stiles mused, "not proud."

"Whatever works for you.," Derek said, making himself look around and pay attention to his surroundings again.

"Okay, it's weird that I can feel that," Stiles cut in abruptly, stealing his attention. "Maybe we should go? I don't like how nervous you feel."

"I'm fine," Derek sighed. "It's not being out here, it's--"

He didn't know how to explain, but Stiles was already there. "It's how hard it is to pay attention to anything else, when I'm an option?"

It should have sounded teasing. Or mocking. 

It was just a statement, laced with wry understanding.

Derek huffed irritation, and winced at the static. "You'll come by tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Stiles agreed, almost before Derek had finished asking. "We can look at schedules and see what we can work out."

"Okay. I love you."

"I love you too."

Derek didn't hang up, but Stiles did. With the sort of decisive immediacy that suggested he knew what was probably coming if he didn't.

There was no reason to stay out, but Derek stretched the last leg of his run home, looping out to weave through some of the patrol routes, just because he could. The terrors were asleep by the time he got in. So was Matt, who'd apparently passed out while watching something with his dad. Peter had also crashed, sprawled across the couch with Matt draped over his stomach and chest. 

And on top of both of them was one of the Scritch-Scratches, curled up in a fuzzy snoring ball.

Tania was taking pictures.

His family.

\-----

While he'd been working, the kittens had apparently been given free reign of the house. Because, in the immortal words of his mother, "It's not like we were having any luck stopping them."

Which meant that when Derek left the shower the next morning, Stitch was perched on the back of the toilet, sniffing inquisitively in his direction.

Derek tripped, denting the wall as he went. Stitch got wet and spazzed his way down and out the door. Laura laughed herself nearly sick, and his father just bemoaned the lack of evidence.

His _family_.

\-----

"So. I heard there's kittens," was Tony's greeting, that morning.

Derek glared and stomped off to the bathroom to change his shoes. The sneakers really weren't the best for stomping.

"Going that well, huh?"

\-----

It was a decent day.

A script-work wrist piece showed up early for their appointment. He had a consultation with a woman who wanted a campfire over her spine at T-10 and who started happily babbling about anatomy with very little prompting. They talked about feet and how they worked until she had to run back to work.

He designed two new legs for the window, though he'd have to get them approved by Vic and Cara before painting them up. (And he thought, maybe, Vic would want the simpler one for her own leg. She'd been talking about getting something water themed for her right, and the swirling lines that had flowed off the foot as he considered the paths the bones made might suit.)

Then Stiles was leaving school. His anticipation flickering bright in Derek's mind.

\-----

Of _course_ someone had to come in and ask questions just as Stiles was approaching their street.

Of course he had to be asking good, sensible questions and thinking in the long term and about how movement and design interact and all the things Derek actually _liked_ talking about, when Stiles wasn't his other option.

The jerk.

Stiles wrinkled his nose at Derek over the customer's shoulder and headed for the back, calling a greeting back to Tony on his way.

"Uh..."

Derek turned back to his customer, blinking both at the realization that he'd turned to stare after Stiles and at the sour note the guy's scent had suddenly picked up. "Something wrong?"

"That kid just--" Mr. Questions gestured feebily after Stiles, and Derek honestly couldn't tell if he was confused, shocked, or something else, but his scent stayed sour and off. It set Derek's teeth on edge.

There was a scuffle from the other side of the wall, and Stiles came back, leaning over the gate with a wry smile. "Hi. 'That kid' is basically the shop mascot. _You_ do not get to just walk back here, but I do because everybody here loves me and, more importantly, they've spent the last several months teaching me what I'm not allowed to touch. Okay? Okay. Good talk."

Stiles vanished again, leaving the customer gaping. Derek just shrugged. "That's pretty accurate."

"Is he even old enough to get a tattoo?" Mr. Questions asked, relaxing enough to at least pretend to be joking.

It might not have been pretending, but it sounded like it.

"No," Derek confirmed. "His first appointment isn't for several months, still. But we were talking about your first ink, not his."

\-----

Fascinating as Mr. Questions' design idea was (interlocking swirls and circles over the back, meant to follow and accent the motion of the back rather than strictly following the major muscle groups themselves, and yes, yes Derek was just scheduling that consultation for himself if Mr. Questions didn't specify a different preference), it was hard to focus just on their conversation when he could hear Tony and Stiles in the back.

"Vic would set you up. Trust me."

Stiles laughed, but it sounded forced. "Yeah, no. I doodle, I don't draw."

Tony snorted. "Uh. Since when? Also, that's what school's for," Tony drawled, voice dryer than summer. "And what is this? I know you'd been considering it. We talked about--"

"I know. I was there. Just--" Stiles sighed. Pitched his voice low. "Just drop it, okay?"

Yeah. Focus, what?

"Sorry," Derek sighed, isolating Mr. Questions' heartbeat to stay focused on _him_ instead of Stiles. "When did you say you're available?"

\-----

By the time Mr. Questions left, he had a list of website suggestions for further research, one of Vic's 'so you want to get a tattoo' flyers, an appointment for a consultation with Derek at the end of the month, and a lot of questions about Derek's relationship with Stiles. He was keeping them to himself, but the speculative looks he shot back and forth between Derek and the gate to the back area whenever Stiles laughed or said something loud enough for a human to hear were pretty blatant.

"He definitely thought you were banging the jailbait," Tony said, smug and amused and _practically in Derek's ear_.

Derek flinched away, barely keeping the growl in as he relaxed the tight focus on his senses. Let himself hear Stiles' heart (and Tony's) again. "And you don't?"

Tony arched an eyebrow at him and gave him a push toward the back. "I think Stiles would be floating around the ceiling like our own private little sun if you were, so good on both of you. Now go spend time with your boyfriend."

Tony could be his favorite. Just for a little while.

Derek headed back, smiling when he found Stiles glowering at a half unpacked drawer of supplies. "Hey."

"Hi," Stiles replied, but didn't look up. "Do you think Vic'd mind if I--"

"Yes," Derek reached around him to push the drawer closed. "Vic would prefer if you didn't act like you already work here." He waited a moment, listened to Stiles' heart beat stutter and settle on a slightly faster rhythm that before. "Is that what you and Tony were talking about?"

"It's just a thought," Stiles said, too calm to be anything but invested and trying to hide it. But why? "It might not be possible anyway, what with the whole--" He waved his hands to either side of his face, and Derek had no idea what that was supposed to mean.

He waited, but Stiles didn't explain. Even though he _had_ to be able to feel Derek's confusion.

"The whole...what?" he tried, getting an eye roll from Stiles.

" _Magic,_ " Stiles hissed, and-- Oh.

That.

"Ask Alan about it," Derek sighed and ran a hand over Stiles' hair, almost smiling when Stiles didn't quite try hard enough to lean away. "It might not be a problem."

"That'd be a first," Stiles snorted.

Derek hummed agreement, because there really wasn't anything else he could _do_ , then. "So. Schedules?"

Stiles groaned, but turned away from the drawer and leaned against Derek, which was nice. "Deaton wants me at the clinic Saturday mornings, Monday and Wednesday after school. Which isn't too bad, but chemistry is kicking my ass, and I'm a group with Lydia in English, which is also going to take up a lot of time."

"It's just you two in the group?" It'd been a while since he'd been in school, but they'd normally called those partnered projects, not groups.

A snort and a shrug, then "No, there's another two people, but they're not really involved because Lydia doesn't want them tainting her GPA. I mean, she doesn't want me messing it up _either_ , and if this was chemistry or something she wouldn't let me be involved." Another shrug and Stiles leaned more against Derek's side, the feel of him twisting in a strange sort of half-reluctance. "But I'm good at comparative analysis, and she and I have really different views about the material, so she's letting me fight with her about it to make the project stronger."

He remembered that name better, now. Stiles had talked about Lydia, before. So had Scott.

"Your friend has really weird ideas about how group projects work," Derek offered, wondering if Stiles would notice the curiosity under it.

Stiles just laughed, short, abrupt and disbelieving. "Never let anyone know that you mistook Lydia Martin for a friend of mine. She might have me skinned and turned into a handbag." The thought made Derek want to growl, even if he could feel the lie. "No. Lydia Martin is a goddess set upon this planet to teach us the meaning of beautiful terror. She doesn't usually even acknowledge that I exist."

"Her mistake," Derek muttered into Stiles' hair, pulling him closer.

His head wasn't white, but it was a mess of dark shapes with tears and jagged lines appearing in bright toned flashes. He didn't like it.

"Not really. By the school hierarchy, I'm kind of a loser." Stiles shrugged it off, and...

He didn't smell upset. He didn't _feel_ upset. Derek snorted to clear his nose and ducked his head to get at Stiles' neck instead, but no. Stiles was fine.

What.

Stiles' fingers were in his hair, then. Just rubbing gently as Stiles' scent bloomed with apple and lighter touches of the musk and spice Derek was so familiar with now.

"I know I'm awesome," Stiles said, sounding more amused than anything. "Validation is always nice, but I figured out my sophomore year that I was college awesome, not high school awesome. It's just--" Stiles exhaled loudly, slumping a little. "Lydia's _both_. She's all the awesomes. And middle school and high school were, like, this prolonged torture of watching her put the college-type awesome away where nobody could see it. So she's the pretty popular girl who's dating the captain of the lacrosse team and she deserves _so_ much better than him, seriously, and--"

In his head, the shapes lightened and firmed and _this_. This was a texture he understood.

"You have a crush," Derek grinned against Stiles' neck, because this was _finally_ starting to make sense.

The sour rush in Stiles 'scent wasn't a surprise. "I'm not--"

"I don't have to compete with the great and powerful Lydia Martin," Derek interupted, lifting his head to smile at Stiles. "I get it."

"Thank god," Stiles breathed, slumping against Derek. "'Cause yeah, I think the only reason I'm in a group with her to begin with is because I haven't been trying to talk to her?" He grimaced, which Derek mostly felt through the bond and against his shoulder rather than seeing. "And I think she wanted to know why. I still think she's amazing, but. I mean. I had _you_ to focus on instead, and I think I have a type," Stiles said, his voice taking a sudden turn for the speculative. "I mean, you're both awesome in a really bitchy and impossibly hot sort of way, but they're really different kinds of awesome. So maybe I'm just drawn to bitchy, unbelievably hot people."

Derek patted Stiles's head, prompting him to straighten up and glare, which was perfect.

"That's not just you. I think that's actually pretty normal."

"Oh, cool," Stiles rolled his eyes then thunked his head back down on Derek's shoulder again. "I'm finally somehow normal. That's new."

"Schedules?" Derek tried, not certain he could keep from laughing if they didn't change the topic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apparently just have a habit of ending mid-conversation, lately. Sorry!
> 
> Late update and no tattoo link again. Also sorry for that. 
> 
> Better luck for next week.


	45. I feel like our relationship is regressing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, we have a chapter beginning mid-conversation. (I hate doing this, btw, and hope that this is the last time.) So here, have a last-time-on recap.
>
>> "I still think she's amazing, but. I mean. I had _you_ to focus on instead, and I think I have a type," Stiles said, his voice taking a sudden turn for the speculative. "I mean, you're both awesome in a really bitchy and impossibly hot sort of way, but they're really different kinds of awesome. So maybe I'm just drawn to bitchy, unbelievably hot people."
>> 
>> Derek patted Stiles's head, prompting him to straighten up and glare, which was perfect.
>> 
>> "That's not just you. I think that's actually pretty normal."
>> 
>> "Oh, cool," Stiles rolled his eyes then thunked his head back down on Derek's shoulder again. "I'm finally somehow normal. That's new."
>> 
>> "Schedules?" Derek tried, not certain he could keep from laughing if they didn't change the topic.

"I just told you my schedule," Stiles pointed out. "It's your turn now."

"Are you implying you don't have my schedule memorized anymore?" Derek teased, smiling when Stiles made a face at him. "You used to."

"Yeah, well," Stiles huffed. "I've had a lot on my mind lately. So?"

"I don't work Monday through Wednesday, next week," he offered, smiling at the way Stiles eyes narrowed, the way his scent deepened. "It's the weird--"

Stiles cut him off with a groan, covering his eyes with one hand. "The weird week. Where, once a month, you don't work on or right after the full moon. Oh my _god_ , how did I not notice that?"

"Most people don't automatically expect werewolves," Derek felt obligated to point out. "And without werewolves..."

Stiles waved his words off, scent going peppery with frustration. "Could've been a religious thing, or-- No, I really do think I should've gone straight to werewolves," Stiles admitted, tilting his head back and glaring up at the ceiling. As though that would help.

(It was distracting as _fuck_ to have Stiles' neck on display like that, so if that was Stiles' goal, maybe it did.)

"You're not normally off more than two days for that, though," Stiles said, bringing his attention back down to frown at Derek. "What's--"

"Halloween," Derek reminded him. "Vic and Cara let me have the extra day so I could help with the terrors." Stiles opened his mouth, questions making his mind buzz, but Derek had a feeling he knew what was coming, so just kept talking. "Think a moment about six year old werewolves with access to a lot of sugar and a lot of other screaming, excited kids."

Stiles gaped for a moment before shrugging and nodding. "Okay. Fair."

"If--" Derek hesitated a moment, plowing on when Stiles just stared back at him and waited. "If you want, you could come over for Monday night. Your dad too, but it might be--" Terrifying, was probably the right word. "--a lot, for him."

The offer left Stiles beaming, though. "Seriously?"

Derek nodded, leaning in a bit to get more of the intoxicating mix of Stiles' excitement and happiness. "You might not see me much, we spend a lot of the night running the preserve, but you're welcome. If you want to come."

"I always want to come," Stiles said, waggling his eyebrows ludicrously.

Derek didn't push him off the table, but he considered it.

"Hey guys," Tony called from the front, not bothering to lean around the wall. (Trusting them to be good, or not wanting an eyeful?) "You've got ten minutes until Derek's next appointment is in. Just an FYI."

Stiles made a face, then checked his watch. "Crap. I meant to be home by now."

"Alan tomorrow, so I'll see you Thursday? I'm on mornings again, by then."

That earned him a smile and a kiss before Stiles bounced up from his seat. "I'll pick you up Thursday, then."

Derek followed him out to the front, watched him say goodbye to Tony and disappear out the door. Down the street.

"Man you have it bad," Tony shook his head, oddly sympathetic. "Sucks, doesn't it?"

"Sometimes."

\-----

The appointment was an easy one; a traditionally styled mermaid holding a scroll over her chest with the words _Fish Kills_ on it.

He didn't ask.

\-----

Derek was within a mile of home when he smelled his mother. Sweet-musk and nutmeg and damp fur.

He slowed to a stop and howled, short and curious. Because it was the best way to ask "where are you?" when humans weren't around to matter.

Her answer came on the move, already heading roughly in his direction. Closing in on the bend in the creek where the crawfish were best, so he loped that way. 

She wasn't hunting for the last of the year's crawfish when he found her, though. Her ears flicked back to acknowledge him, even as she dipped a muzzle rough with drying blood (rabbit, from the tufts of fur that hadn't fallen off yet) into the stream for a drink.

"I invited Stiles over Monday night," he started, settling down on a log much damper than the one he'd used the night before. His mother's ears twitched, back and forward, as she lifted her head to give him the full focus of her stare. "I'm not sure he'll come, but he wants to. He was embarrassed that he hadn't figured out I was a werewolf from my weird scheduling once a month," Derek shared, and grinned without teeth when his mother snorted and wagged her tail twice. 

"Monday's one of the days he spends with Alan, though, and he has a lot of homework right now," Derek continued, "so he might not be able to spare the time. But I invited him, and his father."

The wolf that was his mother huffed her approval and stepped away from the creek to press her nose against his face. It left a smear of blood behind, but it's not like he cared.

\-----

Gwen had another fit that night, but they'd sort of been expecting it. She was better with the kittens than Jacob, but they still wouldn't let her approach them. 

It was progress, though. She shifted, but just flopped over in the study, howling and growling instead of trying to attack anyone.

Still not something they could risk happening in the grocery store, but. Progress.

They hoped.

\-----

Wednesday was a blur. The affectionate loud mess that was his family at breakfast faded into the quiet of his run, then the quiet of the shop in the mornings. The noise built through the day, with Cara attempting to sing while she cleaned, the buzz of the tattoo machines, and the ring of the bell over the door. 

Cara approved his leg designs. Vic approved the bolder one for the window. She wanted to think about the simpler one first. 

He got a text from Stiles. _What r u grinning at?_ But Stiles was at Deaton's by then, and shouldn't have been texting to begin with.

Derek wasn't sure how to explain, anyway, what a thrill it was that Vic--Vic, who'd gotten him interested in art to begin with, and never lied when something he did actually sucked, and who gave him a chance at tattooing as a career-- _Vic_ liked something that had just come out of his head, that wasn't drawn just for her or because of her, enough that she needed to think about it. About whether she wanted to share it, or keep it, or both.

He didn't think the words for that would fit in a text. The sharp-bright colors for it barely fit in his head.

\-----

His mother was in the kitchen. 

His mother was in the kitchen during _dinner prep_.

Derek paused in chopping the carrots and turned just enough to find her at the edge of his vision. Next to him, Laura was still chopping but had her ear cocked toward the door and a distracted frown on her face. Their mother wasn't _doing_ anything, which was both a relief and confusing. If she didn't want a snack or to prove, yet again, why no one in the family wanted her to cook, then--

"You're in the kitchen, son of mine," Maria drawled, rolling her eyes. "And I want to talk to you. So _I_ am in the kitchen."

\--then that, apparently. Derek shrugged and went back to his carrots. "What are we talking about?"

"Stiles," she said, snorting amusement and shaking her hair back as she stepped closer, filling the kitchen with the warm-spice-old-leaves of her amusement. "Try to contain your surprise."

Derek smiled, ducking his head a bit further to hide the evidence. (Not very well, if Paul's smirk from the other side of the island meant anything.) "You'll never know it's there."

"Good," Maria laughed and claimed a mostly out of the way corner of the island and jumped up to sit on it. "So fill me in. Are you two okay? His scent on you is starting to fade."

Derek snorted and turned his head to roll his eyes at his mother. "Do I smell distressed? We're fine. I told you yesterday, between school and Alan, he's got a lot of work. He's going to come by Tinge after school tomorrow, so I'll get to see him then."

"And he'll come over, for the moon."

Paul and Laura went attentive at that, hands stopping as their heads came up to give Derek their full attention, anxiety leaking through the bond and only starting to relax when it wasn't echoed back. (Which...okay, they didn't know it had been Derek's idea, not his mother railroading him in the kitchen. To be fair, the railroading was normally more likely.)

"If he can," Derek hedged. "He hasn't--"

"You said he wanted to," Maria shrugged, as though that was the only factor that mattered. "It's Stiles. If he wants to be here, he will be."

Maybe it was.

"Just don't hold it against him if he isn't."

The exaggerated look of offense on his mother's face was worth the whole conversation.

\-----

He couldn't run patrol with a morning shift. Couldn't afford to sleep in the way he'd need to, if he hadn't slept the afternooon away the day before.

Couldn't really afford to be up all night, regardless of why.

Derek pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and wished it was dark enough to keep him from seeing. But it was less than a week to the full moon and of course the damn thing was hanging out in the sky outside his window.

He'd sleep eventually. Not enough, but some.

\-----

When he turned his phone on again in the morning, there were three texts from Stiles.

1:30, _I meant it. You can come over. Dad said ok so long as its movies_

2:00, _I have princess bride_

2:03, _Which i am watching w/o u_

Well. It was proof he was keeping Stiles up _anyway_ , if nothing else.

Derek texted a quick _Sorry._ Came out of his shower to _Wtf apology. If you have contrl over it stop DOIN it. Otwise not ur fault_

He was still trying to get his face back under control after that when his phone buzzed again.

_Just wish I could help_

Fuck.

\-----

Thursday mornings at the shop tended toward excruciating boredom. Derek wished he knew why, but as it stood it gave him time to sketch or clean.

He was too unfocused to draw, so he pulled up the mats and mopped the back in chunks. Moved everything on the counters that could be moved and wiped down the spaces he couldn't normally get to. Dusted the display legs. Reorganized their jewelry display.

It hadn't had a complete overhaul since June, and they had some new seasonal jewelry that had just been kind of shoved into an open space on the top shelf, so it had been overdue anyway.

Then Tony came in and took up the physical-presence-for-walk-ins duty, so Derek could go paint up the design Cara and Vic had approved for the window.

It was nearly time for school to let out, by the time Derek finished. Mostly because he'd realized halfway through painting that he was an idiot and needed a stripe of something vibrant through the black he'd been branching and winding up the calf. Thankfully it was paint on plastic, not ink in skin, so he'd been able to fix it without having to worry.

Hopefully Vic and Cara wouldn't mind the sudden addition of magenta, but whatever.

"What's it like to live in your head?" Tony mused after Derek turned the sink off and started for the front, drying his hands. "Is it alphabetized? Sorted by color? Have you managed both somehow?"

The questions made a lot more sense when Derek rounded the corner and found Tony crouched on the wrong side--the retail side--of the front counter, staring at the jewelry.

Derek rolled his eyes and started pulling his stuff out of the nooks and crannies behind the register. "Just be glad we don't have an oven."

Tony's head came up slowly, eyes wide and faintly disbelieving. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"No," Tony disagreed, tilting his head back and--augh. Derek was _never_ going to get get used to throat tattoos. Not if he couldn't even get used to Tony's. Derek focused his attention more firmly on the shelf beneath the till and cursed the fact that he was already done. "I think I just heard you just imply that you bake. But there's never been evidence of this, so I must be wrong."

Derek snorted and threw a balled up failed sketch of a hummingbird in flight at Tony's head. "I would, but my family doesn't _leave_ any evidence."

Tony didn't bother ducking or swatting the paper away, but he laughed and lowered his chin again, so Derek was counting it a win.

\-----

"I should've known Stiles was picking you up," Tony called back later, as Derek was grabbing his bag. "You never pack up early."

Blatantly untrue, but there was no point in mentioning that. 

The bell rang. "Hey, Tony," Stiles chirped, but his footsteps angled away from the register. "On your own today? Or, y'know, now anyway." 

Derek waved as Stiles leaned around the edge of the wall. Tried to ignore the catch in his throat when Stiles grinned.

"Vic's going to be in soon," Tony said, drawing Stiles' attention back to the other side of the wall. "She should already be here, but she needed to go see that lug's sister for non-social reasons."

"What?" Derek asked, jogging up to the gate once he had another reason besides Stiles to hurry. "What's wrong with Vic's car?"

Tony snorted and was in the process of dropping his face into one hand as Derek rounded the wall. "Like I'd know? She said it was making a noise. She called in while you were out back."

"Out-- You mean in the alley?" Stiles asked, visibly perking up, curiosity sharpening his eyes as they cut to Derek. "Is there a new leg? What--"

Derek gently nudged Stiles shoulder toward the door. "Out."

"I feel like our relationship is regressing," Stiles griped, but his scent was full of apples and he went easily enough, just turning at the door to wave. "Bye Tony! Luck!"

Tony waved back and smirked when Derek gave him a half assed wave. 

Whatever.

The door was already closed behind them, Stiles leaning in so their arms brushed, when Tony muttered "Obnoxiously, disgustingly adorable."

Derek took a deep breath, focusing on the smell of the street and, more importantly, Stiles, to keep from turning and glaring, over that. Because it was kind of amazing Tony wasn't more curious than he was. Didn't know about werewolves, or ask about the furry elephant in the room.

No point in giving him reasons to _start_ asking.

Stiles leaned harder into his arm before pushing off and starting down the sidwalk. "Jeep's this way."

"I know," Derek smirked, and enjoyed Stiles' half flail. "Just like you knew I was getting my stuff when you came in."

That earned him a suspicious squint. "What--"

"You weren't curious about where I was. Didn't ask Tony about it either. Just went straight for the end of the wall."

Stiles frowned for a moment before snorting and rolling his eyes. "Good thing Dad already knows." He squinted at Derek next, speculative more than accusing. "You think about that kind of thing a lot."

Derek shrugged. "Have to. I felt you coming, I could have been waiting outside by the time you got there, if I'd wanted. But-- Can you imagine the ribbing I'd get from Tony?" He grimaced and Stiles laughed, leaning in against his arm. "It's the same as when I asked if it was too cold for ice cream. Fitting in is something we have to put effort into."

The nod Stiles gave that was distracted, his brain grinding hard enough that he nearly walked past the Jeep. 

Derek smirked and nudged Stiles around to the driver's side. Followed him there and tucked his face into the curve of Stiles' neck as he unlocked the doors. Remembered what they smelled like together.

"Oh my god, Derek, the Jeep smells like me too. Stop huffing me in public."

Obnoxious as it was, he had a point. Derek grumbled but pulled away. Bumped Stiles aside and let himself in through the driver's door, tossing his bag into the back seat as he went. Braced one knee on the seat and worked his other leg between the gear shift and the wheel, twisting himself down into the passenger seat, and--

Musk-spice-apple. 

Derek paused in his reach for the seat belt to blink out at Stiles. He was kind of surprised the cloud of lust wasn't _visible_.

Stiles cleared his throat and clambered in, blushing the whole way. "I refuse to apologize for that. You basically just wiggled your ass in my face."

"Ah."

He hadn't thought about that.

He'd have to remember it.

"Oh my god," Stiles groaned, but he felt like laughter, not upset. "You are the worst."

"Sorry."

Stiles snorted, but he sounded pleased. "You are not. We are definitely revisiting that talk about boundaries and rules, though."

"Is your dad home?"

The Jeep, just starting to pull forward out of the parking spot and into the road, lurched and stuttered but didn't quite stall. Kind of like Stiles' pulse.

"I hate you," Stiles sighed.

"Do not."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been a long, _long_ time , so just in case anyone doesn't get the joke behind the line about their relationship regressing, have a quote from chapter two.
>
>> "What if I got a _door_."
>> 
>> Derek set his pencil aside and looked up at Stiles, where he was leafing idly through Tony's portfolio. Again. "A door."
>> 
>> "Yeah. A photo-realistic door, not something cartoony." Stiles flipped a page, frowning in concentration. He smelled intensely of honeysuckle, and it was harder than normal to gauge his moods because of it. "On my forehead."
>> 
>> "Out," Derek informed him, pointing at the real door.
> 
> It's the return of the **tattoo artist of the week**! This week, I'd like to point you toward [Alex Arnautov](http://tattrx.tumblr.com/tagged/alex-arnautov), in Kiev, Ukraine. I might have linked to him before, but I don't think I have and, honestly, I'd link to him again anyway. Absolutely gorgeous black work and geometrics.
> 
> In other news, this chapter made me really happy because I was able to specifically address something I like to play with more subtly, which is the fact that werewolves aren't humans and because of that, their interactions with humans can be a bit interesting. There was actually a post on tumblr a while back that clarified for me what it was I was doing and why I liked it so much, that I was planning to reblog until I got to the part where it mentioned and linked to Indelible Marks. (I have a strange and awkward relationship with self promotion, in that I largely don't do it and feel bad when I do. This is why it took so long for me to start posting links to chapter updates on tumblr.) If you're already reading this story, though, I don't have to worry about that. So have a link to [_why human AUs often leave me gutted_ by niqaeli](http://niqaeli.tumblr.com/post/56048355519/why-human-aus-often-leave-me-gutted).
> 
> (Thank you, niqaeli! For the excellent words, and for reading!)


	46. we fail at dating

They did go to the Stilinski house, but that was just as much because they hadn't bothered planning anything as Derek's suggestion.

"Seriously, we fail at dating," Stiles grumbled, kicking out of his shoes and putting his keys aside once the door was shut behind them. "We talk about when, why don't we ever talk about what?"

"Because it doesn't matter," Derek offered as he straightened out of his crouch, boots untied and laces loosened. "You matter. I matter. The what is just an excuse."

Stiles stared, pulse hammering and mouth hanging just open enough to be really, really distracting.

Derek cleared his throat and tugged free of his boots. "How are your lessons with Alan going?"

That changed the mood. Stiles rolled his eyes with most of his torso. "I can draw on my own again, so long as I'm careful. Apparently, a lot of my training is actually going to be reverse engineering, to figure out what I can do, then how I did it." Stiles sighed and headed into the kitchen, but he didn't tell Derek to stay put this time, so he trailed after. "Sounds like magic is pretty common, but most people develop something that's just, like, an extra sense. Like Scott," Stiles laughed, his scent going bright and metallic-wrong at the same time, even as he crouched down to rifle through a cabinet Derek had thought was just pots and pans. " _Scott_ knows what people around him are feeling. Not feeling it himself," Stiles sat back abruptly to frown worriedly at Derek, and Derek wondered what he'd been leaking to warrant that. "More like he can gets little closed caption signs that tell him what someone's emotional state is like. Only with less typos, and a lot less literal."

"That's--" _invasive_ , Derek wanted to say, but. Well. Scent. Hearing. Sight. He didn't have much of a defense there. He huffed annoyance and moved over to perch on the counter above the pots and pans, since Stiles' search had moved on, long legs stretching out to scoot him over to the next set of doors.

Stiles eyed him for a moment from the floor, one arm scuffling around under the counter, before he decided Derek wasn't going to say anymore and announced "It's pretty normal, apparently. Scott's pretty strong, which is why Deaton's thinking of teaching him more, but--" something crinkled as he reached an extra half-inch and Stiles made a pleased noise before diving into the cupboard headfirst.

(Blue boxers, an unhelpful part of Derek's brain noted as Stiles' shirt rode up. With a light grey plaid.)

"Damnit, Dad\-- Uh, but. Yeah. It's a pretty common type of magic. Like, a. Thiiing." Something gave, and he had to listen for Stiles' voice around the tiny steel-drum-chorus of cans rolling free. " _Survival mechanism_. Unlike all this crap."

A bag of plain Ruffles appeared on the counter, bag crinkling again as Stiles released it and disappeared back into the cupboard, muttering to himself about sugar content and horrible hiding places as he re-stacked the cans he'd knocked over.

Derek could think of plenty of scenario where being able to tell what other people were really feeling would be a survival trait. (He remembered one.) 

It wasn't something he wanted to spend much time on. "So what about you?"

" _I_ am weird as fuck," Stiles said, re-emerging from the cupboard, mouth stretching into a grin around the words. He managed to mix proud and bitter until only the proud stood out, everywhere except the bond. 

Stiles reclaimed the chips and ripped the bag open before shaking it in Derek's direction. (At least they weren't flavored, he thought, as he leaned over to snag a chip.) "It took forever for my magic to settle into something," Stiles continued. "Apparently, the usual age for that is, like, three to six. And when it _did_ settle it was a way for me to influence my surroundings, not just get more information about them. Both situations are weird on their own, so I'm--"

"Amazing," Derek cut in, smiling when it made Stiles go still for a moment before finally cramming a gigantic chip into his mouth. "Which isn't exactly news. Did he say anything about you getting into--art, for a living?"

"Tattooing," Stiles corrected, cupping a hand over his face a moment later and brushing at the crumbs he'd just left everywhere. "Ahem. I mean. That's what I was-- It makes sense, right? And Deaton said it's actually a good idea. Something I can focus my magic on, so I don't lose--" Stiles' breath caught and he blinked, trying to catch up with his brain. "Practice, and-- Holy shit."

Derek slid off the counter and stepped in, plucking the chips out of Stiles' hands to set them out of the way where they wouldn't get crushed, leaning his forehead against Stiles' and just--feeling. Letting Stiles relax into the joy and hope that was filling Derek's head with twisting explosions in green, orange, and gold.

\-----

He lost track of time, while they stood like that. They didn't separate until Stiles' stomach started complaining, though.

\-----

Two turkey sandwiches later, Stiles tossed his napkin in the trash can and fixed Derek with a steady look. "You done any thinking about boundaries yet?"

"Yeah," Derek agreed, and something in his voice or over the bond made Stiles sit up straighter, his attention intensifying. But. "Done any thinking about permanence?"

Stiles groaned and slouched away from the counter. "Couldn't you have forgotten about that?"

"Nope."

Put-upon and fond was a good look on Stiles. 

"Jerk," Stiles sighed, and headed for the living room. "Couch? Sketchbook?"

That sounded like a plan to Derek.

\-----

They ended up with Derek's back braced against one of the arms, Stiles' back to his chest with the sketchbook propped against Stiles' legs. 

Stiles' lines had changed. Stiffer than they had been, tending to hesitate at the wide point in a curve and often too hard, too dark. Lack of practice, or caution because of his magic? Stiles was already letting out frustrated little huffs whenever a particularly obvious example happened, so Derek kept his mouth shut.

"You said to think about it like I did with tattoos," Stiles started, around a twisting line that looked like smoke to Derek. "And that was all about looking at what people weren't actually saying."

Another twist joined the first, and Derek snuck his hand in under Stiles' to add a chimney. A campfire. A candle.

A lamp, he decided. A magic lamp, straight out of the illustrated book of fairy tales his family had read to him when he was the terrors' age. He still loved those delicate, simple lines far more than just artistic appreciation could explain. 

"Most of what I found was about things that could affect your tattoo, like tanning, or injuries, or, y'know, pregnancy." Stiles continued. Derek glanced to the side to check and--yup. Stiles still looked like someone had just hit him with a fish whenever he thought about pregnancy and tattoos. 

It only took a moment for Stiles to blink himself back to the present moment again. To pause then make _use_ of his heavier, stiffer lines to start sketching in an engraved decoration around the base of the lamp. "Anyway. Thing was, all of it talked like the tattoo was what was being affected. The skin was there, but just as what the tattoo was _on_ , right?" He made a guttural near-growling noise, pencil stilling and frustration flaring up between them, twisting his scent. "Like they were separate things. Like the tattoo wasn't _part_ of someone by that point."

"And?" Derek prompted, after Stiles went silent for a moment to finish up the design he'd started, while Derek contorted his arm a bit to sketch in the lid and handle.

"And it was easier to think about, as things that happen to the person. More accurate too, since tattoo removal, right? That affects the skin too." Stiles' hand came up to gesture along with his point, and Derek took advantage of the moment to flip the book over so he could get at the handle. Stiles needed to practice drawing upside down anyway.

Derek pressed his nose into the crevice behind Stiles' ear when he took a moment to glower at the new perspective on their drawing. "Does this relate to the bond at any point?"

He could feel Stiles roll his eyes. Didn't need to see it. "I can't exactly research werewolf mating bonds," Stiles said, dry and matter of fact but with a spike of gleeful humor for-- "It's all porn."

"Don't use the internet," Derek groaned, letting his head fall forward until the bridge of his nose was mashed uncomfortably against Stiles' shoulder. "Ever."

Stiles just laughed and brought a hand up to rub through Derek's hair. Which was something he could stop doing around never, Derek attempted to convey through a happy grumble.

"Seriously though," Stiles went on. "Some of it might be good porn, but it's still porn and that's not the kind of research I was trying to do."

Derek was already bordering on not wanting to talk about this anymore. Almost wanted to ask what kind of research, exactly, involved porn.

Sadly (and fortunately), Stiles was on a roll. "I did the best I could, but all the--uh, _human_ equivalents for us were kinda--" Stiles huffed, scent warping with resignation and frustration until the normal spicy-earth-apple smelled more like a soggy cinnamon bun.

Derek didn't try to stop the unhappy grumble that built in his chest. Abandoned his pencil in the spine of the sketchbook so he could focus on rubbing his face against Stiles' neck to try and cover the unhappy smell up. 

And if it distracted Stiles into laughing and trying to squirm away, scent greening and brightening, all the better.

"Dude, this topic is your fault," Stiles huffed, finally pushing at Derek's head to make him straighten up again. "And it's--" He sighed, closing the sketchbook and setting it on the coffee table so he could slump back against Derek more completely. "There _isn't_ an equivalent to us. I talked to Deaton about this enough to know that there are some things I don't have to worry about. Like-- Some of those stories end in body bags, and that's something you won't be capable of. According to Deaton, _nobody in the pack_ will be capable of it, barring a pretty massive psychotic break on their part or mine."

That was true enough. Derek didn't remember Matt (the first Matt, Vic's uncle and his mother's cousin), but he knew the story. Knew the reality behind the animal attacks that had gotten his pack on the hunters' radar years before Kate had ever heard of them.

Knew how much it had hurt Peter to kill a packmate, a (might-as-well-be) brother, dangerously insane or not. But Peter was both pragmatic and philosophical enough to tell the story himself, make it a warning and a reassurance to all the kids. Because even if they lost themselves, if it was possible, it would be a loving hand that dealt with them.

If Tania went on a rampage and started ripping people apart, Derek knew part of the heartbreak would be keeping Peter from protecting her.

Derek's distress at the thought tangled with Stiles' until their bond was an uncomfortable knot twisted between them. 

"Oh my god, this is the worst topic," Stiles huffed, twisting around and--shoving his face up against Derek's throat.

Stiles couldn't scent his distress the way a werewolf could, but he could distract like a champion. Derek had never been _happy_ about a mind gone shock white before.

Their scents mellowed as the bond relaxed and Derek let himself just focus on the feel of Stiles' breath against his skin, and the disconcerting sense of safety that came with it.

"No more talking about that," Stiles muttered darkly, rubbing his face against Derek's neck in an echo (unconscious or not?) of what Derek had done earlier. "Words suck."

They still needed to talk about it, but Derek couldn't find it in himself to disagree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief note on magic! I wanted most magic in this world to be a subtle, unnoticed thing. Most humans have some sort of gift, they just don't realize not everyone is like them. And for the most part, the benefits are small and subtle enough that there's no reason for them to figure out otherwise. For most people, magic is a slight boost in response to fear at a very young age. 
> 
> This was my answer, prior to S3a, for why Lydia Martin was immune. She's part of the incredibly small population of people with no inherent magic for the werewolf magic to take the place of. (It was also my explanation to myself for some of Scott's behavior.)
> 
> I share my thoughts here, but this is in general a very minor point and if you hate it, you can just ignore it and hopefully still enjoy the rest of the story.
> 
>  **Tattoo artist of the week:** [Karasu Cheng](http://tattrx.tumblr.com/tagged/karasu-cheng), in Taipei, Taiwan does some astonishing stuff with color.
> 
> And I know I've linked to [David Hale](http://tattrx.tumblr.com/tagged/david-hale), of Athens, Georgia before, but I have my favorites and there's some new stuff of his on tattrx's tumblr that made me squeep happily, so I figured I'd share him again.
> 
> Other links: [Divided We Stand](http://archiveofourown.org/works/877251/chapters/1686486) is a recently completed work by [KouriArashi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/KouriArashi/pseuds/KouriArashi). It's longer than Indelible Marks (right now, anyway) and totally worth it. It stands up well to a re-read as well. There are some definite themes of bullying, dealing-with-trauma, and racism, which--you might not automatically expect, going in. But give it a shot, it's an excellent story that resists doing the expected in a lot of places.


	47. based on current exposure

Waking up to a noise _ending_ was strange. It was unsettling to wake up to the sensation of having missed something, and it always left him feeling groggy and lost in his own skin.

That was Derek's excuse for why he didn't register _where_ he was until John was at the door, keys jangling and sighing at the empty click that meant it hadn't been locked.

Oops.

Stiles didn't react to the sound of his father at the door, just kept not-quite-snoring into Derek's shoulder. There was no time to move him before the door opened, so Derek just lifted a hand to rub at his face and craned his head around to look for a clock. There wasn't one visible from where he was stretched out, but the windows were dark.

Then the Sheriff's shoes came into view and Derek turned to blink up at him and wave.

John sighed again, glanced over Stiles, and retreated to the kitchen.

Yeah, that could've gone better.

\-----

It took a few minutes, but Derek eventually got Stiles pushed enough to the side that he was able to slip off the couch. Stiles snuffled and kicked once before--

Well. In anyone else, Derek would have called the twisting-stretching-going limp combo 'settling in', but those words implied some level of _comfort_ to him. Stiles had contorted himself in a way Derek had thought was unique to cats, and wedged his head into the corner of the couch.

Stiles snuffled and twisted into a slightly more improbable position, and Derek decided there wasn't any point in trying to figure it out. His mate was just made of rubber while asleep. He could adjust.

Then Stiles' legs flopped wider apart, and Derek fled for the kitchen. Because that was going to be less awkward.

The kitchen smelled of onion, in the muted way that meant one had been cut, then taken away from the air right after. It also smelled of John, beer, tomatoes, Ruffles, and butter, but fresh onions generally took priority, among basic kitchen smells. They were the scent equivalent of hot pink.

John nodded when Derek came in and lifted his bottle in greeting, but didn't look up from the pot he was overseeing. "Sleep well?"

The bag of chips was still on the counter, but now it was sitting next to John with the open end angled his way. It didn't seem prudent to mention that, though. Especially since Derek was fairly certain Stiles had dug up his father's snack food stash.

"Yes, sir."

"John," he corrected gently, not quite smiling. "It's still John."

Derek knew he was smiling, but he wasn't awake enough to be sure he was doing it the human way. The kitchen was definitely less awkward. "Sorry."

John shrugged and set his beer down, getting a grip on the pot and pressing something (a tomato, probably stewed but it could be hard to tell with canned stuff) against the side until it smushed. The pot was where the butter was coming from too, interestingly. And where the onion had disappeared to, Derek realized as John scraped the mashed tomato back into the sauce and stirred it back in. It weren't even diced, just submerged in the sauce as gigantic chunks.

That was definitely a tomato sauce he was making, though. Just...no herbs or other spices. Yet, anyway.

"Stiles says you haven't been having an easy time at that," John started, and Derek had to pull his attention back to the topic at hand. Stiles. Derek. Sleeping on the couch. Right. "He did talk to me about you coming over some nights, in case you were curious. And we had a long, horrible discussion about the kinds of things I don't want to know about, and why he thinks I don't need to worry about them."

Right. _There_ was the missing awkward.

Derek opened his mouth to say--something, anything--but snapped it shut again at the deeply parental look he got. "If he thought anything was going to happen, he'd be using a different lie. Trust me on that," John said, mouth quirking up at the corner as he smashed another tomato. "So if it would actually help you sleep..." He let the thought trail off and shrugged. "Insomnia's a terrible thing, is all I'm saying.."

"Thank you," Derek said, parroting manners rather than trying to make sense of the mess in his head that felt like pack, embarrassment, and gratitude had smashed together and were still trying to sort out if they were in a fight or an orgy.

John shook his head and went back to the pot. "Son, I can't imagine anything less attractive than Stiles sleeping. Just consider this a two birds, one stone approach."

Derek flashed back to the way Stiles had twisted in the couch before emulating the kittens. To Stiles talking in his sleep, or to waking up with Stiles' mouth against his hand.

If John thought that, then it probably had more to do with Stiles being his son than anything, but Derek wasn't going to argue.

In the other room, Stiles snuffled, kicked something soft onto the floor, then followed it with a heavy thump.

The sheriff just nodded, like he'd been expecting that. "Would you mind checking on him? And while you're at it," he continued as Derek turned to comply, "tell him to get his butt in here and dig the good spaghetti out of wherever he's hidden it this time." 

He was crunching his way through a chip before Derek even made the door.

"I'm on the floor, not deaf!" Stiles called back, just as Derek rounded the couch. He got a jaunty wave before Stiles was scrambling up, but he smelled/felt more embarrassed than hurt, at least.

Which explained the awkward sidestep and the hand rubbing over the back of his head, as Stiles bypassed Derek entirely and headed for the kitchen.

Derek sighed. Words sucked, but sometimes they helped. Even _he_ knew that.

"You're staying for dinner, right?" John called from the kitchen, mostly covering the rude noise Stiles made when he got to the kitchen and could see what his father was up to.

"Yes sir," he offered, smiling when John made a rude noise of his own, deeper than Stiles' but otherwise...

" _John_."

\-----

Dinner was simple, but good. Spaghetti with that strange, apparently intentionally herb-less sauce that somehow managed to taste rich and finished, even though Derek was fairly certain it only had three real ingredients. There was no garlic bread, which John regretted enough to apologize for, and no salad, which was pointed out three more times than necessary by Stiles. There was frozen broccoli, that they'd let him rescue from the microwave before it became mush. 

"You two have any plans for the weekend?" John asked, in the lull after Stiles finished talking about his classes. 

Derek couldn't feel the sheriff, but he could recognize the scents he and his son had in common. There was a tang that went with discomfort, for both of them. Somewhere in the range between citrus peel and onions. 

He was trying, though. It was better than Derek had any right to expect.

"Not yet," he hedged, glancing over at Stiles who snorted and rolled his eyes before shoving another bite in his mouth. Right. "We haven't been so great at planning dates," he offered honestly, shrugging. "We usually just end up hanging out at Tinge or with family."

"Or both," Stiles muttered before swallowing. "Derek's working mornings, and I'm seeing Deaton both days. Plus homework," he added, at an eyebrow from his father. "We've got plans for next week, though."

Derek didn't bother waiting for a prompt, verbal or otherwise. "The full moon is Monday. You're both welcome to join us, if you want. It's not--" He hesitated, trying (and mostly failing) to get a read on John. "You don't have to. It's not a--test or anything. Not for either of you."

"Is it usually?" Stiles cut in, before his father could answer.

Probably for the best. He couldn't pick apart the soft musk and weird almost-melon scent John was giving off, but he could read the wariness in his face well enough.

"Not so much a test as--an indicator, I guess? How well someone handles a full moon says a lot about how well they handle what we are."

Stiles snorted, stabbing his fork at the last few noodles on his plate and keeping his head down to hide his smile.

John didn't bother trying to hide his. "So, based on current exposure..."

"As long as he remembers my _mom_ is leading the run, not him, it should be fine," Derek finished, rolling his eyes and trying to hold back his smirk while Stiles elbowed him in the side.

\-----

He could have stayed. John had said as much, before he left.

Derek ran home anyway, with a new shirt from Stiles tucked safely in his bag, wrapped up to protect the scent.

If it was too bad of a night, the run back wasn't terrible. 

Besides, he'd need a change of clothes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how late this is. This last week was kind of brutal, but things have lightened up a bit now, so I'm hopeful for next week to go more smoothly.
> 
> As a note: I am going to be updating the tags on this story soon, to include underage. I think it's already gone far enough there that I'd feel better with the warning up, and I'm anticipating it eventually going further. So. I just wanted you to know that this change isn't in relation to anything happening right now.
> 
> No links today. Tired. Must sleep.


	48. Are you asking me out?"

He slept alright. Not great, but well enough that he didn't feel groggy, or have any texts from Stiles at alarming-o-clock when he checked his phone that morning. So that was something.

Gwen wore her Stitch ears all through breakfast. Stacia practiced roaring until her father scooped her up away from the table and carried her upsidedown to the yard. ("Why?" Niq moaned into her coffee, more smudged and lethargic than usual. Peter, ever his useful self, responded, "...because she's six?") Jacob was unusually quiet, nodding off against Matt's side who, in turn, leaned against his mother as she tried to feed Greg without getting her fingers chomped on or, worse, letting him break off part of a spoon. Dominique almost left for work with her hair still up in her messy sleeping bun instead of her normal twist. 

Derek left for work with a change of clothes in his bag, just in case, and a grin that Laura had declared "too weird to deal with" when they passed each other on his way to the door.

Whatever. It was a good morning.

\-----

At work, he spent most of his morning getting ready for a second consult, shuffling and re-shuffling his papers until Cara threatened to put him in a headlock. Then sent him out for sandwiches and pastries, because it was still Cara. If it wasn't a hugging problem, she moved on to distraction and food.

It worked wonders, as usual, but he wasn't going to tell her that. (Didn't have to, judging by the smug edge to her smirk.)

The point was, Derek hadn't ripped his designs with his fidgeting by the time Yuriko got there, ten minutes early and pretending like she hadn't practically bounced past their windows to the door. "Hey! Uh, sorry. I'm early. I can--"

Why was she apologizing? Derek froze halfway through picking his folder up, then jolted into motion again when Cara shoved him away from the register.

"Oh, _please_ sit," Cara laughed. "He's been off the walls all morning. Would you like some water?"

"Uh, yeah. That'd be-- Yeah. Thanks," Yuriko smiled at Cara, but grinned at Derek and bounced a little as she sat down, leaning forward and smelling like pine and ozone. "Show me?"

The glass of water Cara dropped off was ignored in favor of the sprawling lines of embroidery motifs they spread out all over the counter. He'd made the initial design they discussed, a straight line with five branches of variable size, and realized too late that it was-- It just didn't feel right. Too rigid, too harsh. It was still there, but so were two others: a single, unbranching line with echoed motifs to soften the impact, and a more fluid line that twisted to follow the way Yuriko's body held its weight, with curling branches that hugged her ankle, just above the back of her knee, her hip, her shoulder. 

She nearly screamed when she saw the twisting version, but by the way she pulled it closer to trace the lines of the branch that would curl over her hip, he thought it was a winner.

He was sure of it when she grabbed a pencil and started hesitantly showing him better ways to adjust the motifs to make them bend the way he needed them to.

\-----

"You _are_ asking her if you can photograph that for your portfolio, right?" 

It was phrased as a question but it wasn't one, really. It was more Cara seeking confirmation that he wasn't a complete idiot. She'd sat next to him and leaned against his shoulder, quietly watching him sort the piles of notes and sketches he and Yuriko had left in their wake, ever since Yuriko had left.

Physically, anyway. The pine-y scent of her excitement was probably going to linger for hours. 

He nodded, carefully folding the rejected options and clipping them together for the back of the file. "Yeah. She hates being photographed, though." They'd had to do it again. Closer shots of the areas he'd be integrating into the branches and a few more whole body shots from angles as well as head on. Yuriko had thought to wear leggings and a tight fitting tank top under the rest of her clothes this time, but she'd still blushed like a demon the whole time.

He hoped it was the camera, not body shyness. It was going to be incredibly awkward trying to do her hip, otherwise.

"I was thinking we might take a couple of detail shots," he continued, turning the full body sketch of the final concept toward Cara so she could lean in and see what he was talking about. "Shoulder and ankle, probably. The hip would be better, but--shy." He shrugged it off. "It might be an in progress shot, if she lets us photograph that at all."

"Fair enough," Cara agreed, pushing the art back at him and smiling when he snatched it away from her to keep it from getting wrinkled. "Put the detail shots in the portfolio with the concept art, then? To show the scope without having to throw her in, centerfold style."

"Yeah. It'd still probably take up a couple of pages, but..."

"But it's exactly the kind of work you want more people to ask for," Cara drawled, pressing up against his side and just smelling _happy_ (and green, and light, and pine-y because apparently Yuriko was catching). "And exactly the sort of work you're going to want to show off, when you cruelly abandon us to follow Stiles to wherever." She tapped the corner of the file decisively then took it away from him. (That was fine. He'd have it back soon.) "We'll put it at the front of the portfolio when it's ready. Behind the wings or in front of them?"

"Behind, probably." The embroidery was better work, he thought, but the blockwork wings he'd designed for his first solo client were still his best _known_ work.

For now.

\-----

Derek felt Stiles coming, obviously, but he didn't budge from tracing out leg template after leg template. He was within sight of the door, and it wasn't like he could leave right away anyway.

When Stiles did come in, he was grinning like he couldn't help it. "What--" He cut himself off with a frustrated noise, glancing toward the back and scurrying up to the counter.

"The client can't hear you, and it's just Cara," Derek said, once Stiles was close enough to lean over and kiss. Because hey, it didn't hurt to reward caution.

Also, he wanted to.

Stiles was grinning again when he pulled away, dropping his bag on the floor and himself into a stool. "So what happened? You're all--giddy. It's weird. I mean, good! But weird."

So the sketches came out again. (Not that they'd gone far, between Derek needing to reference them as he worked on the hopefully-final design and anticipating showing them to Stiles when he came in.) 

"Dude, I feel betrayed," Stiles muttered as he spread out the different silhouettes. "You didn't share any of this."

The bond and his scent, lemon-sharp and musky, suggested 'betrayed' was more like 'intrigued'.

"We had other things to focus on."

Stiles barked a laugh, but then Cara's machine cut off and they had to watch what they said again.

\-----

Stiles had curled up in the window seat to wait, reading whatever torture he'd been assigned for English this time, while Derek finished up his shift at the consultation counter working on getting a grip on the details for Yuriko's ankle. The bottom branch was more of a root, a delicate twisting flourish (one of Yuriko's grandmother's motifs, stretched out and embellished just a little) that would curve around the outer malleolus ("The bony, sticky-out bit of the ankle," Cara had clarified for Stiles, when he'd talked her through what he was working on. "And I only know that because our apprentice is an anatomy geek.") and flow up into the main body of the line.

He finished up the curve he was working on when he felt Vic getting closer (when he saw Cara smile, dopey and infatuated, still) and went to pack up, but didn't bother putting his work away.

Just as well.

"Don't even," Vic dodged around him in the back, tossing her jacket at him and just dropping her bag next to the door instead of hanging it up. "Cara said it went well?"

Derek huffed and hung Vic's things up as she skipped out to review his initial work.

His cousins were more excited about this commission than _he_ was.

(Not really.)

He hauled his bag up to the front and patiently pushed at Vic's hip until she moved to the side instead of blocking the gate entirely, so he could drop the bag next to Stiles. Stiles, who was packing up his own stuff and watching Vic and Cara mutter at each other over his drawings. 

"This is a big deal, huh?"

"Not really," Derek tried, but the tail end was entirely buried under Vic and Cara's snorts.

"Our baby artist is finally starting to have enough in his portfolio to show a definite personal style and specialty," Vic cut in. "He's got plenty of work showing he's a competent artist, but this is a big design, showcasing exactly what he's good at. He doesn't have enough of that."

"Also, he's been kind of stupidly adorable about the embroidery stuff," Cara added, grinning with too many teeth to be kind.

Stiles laughed, and Derek tried to focus on everyone's joy instead of his own embarrassment.

\-----

"I was thinking," Stiles said, half an hour later when Derek had been released and they'd both been thoroughly hugged goodbye. "We've gone out to eat together twice now."

"Ice cream," Derek pointed out, but Stiles waved it off.

"Doesn't count. That's dessert, not eating."

Derek snorted and hid his smile. "Okay. So?"

" _So_ , neither of them was a date. We should fix that."

Derek ducked his head and grinned, bumping against Stiles as they walked. "Are you asking me out?"

"Looks like it."

\-----

They went to Floyd's, because they were predictable. Stiles still remembered his order, and Derek kept losing track of the waitress because he had Stiles to pay attention to instead.

It was amazing.

It was probably the company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tattoo links of the week:** Someone asked if I knew of any artists in Hawaii. I didn't, and neither did my favorite go-to sources, so I did what one does and poked around on the internet a bit. I found [Tino](http://www.tattoohawaiistudio.com/Tattoo_Hawaii/Portfolio_-_Tino.html) and [Doug](http://www.tattoohawaiistudio.com/Tattoo_Hawaii/Portfolio_-_Doug.html) of Tattoo Hawaii, who both have some lovely black work. I also saw mentions of a place called [Rock Solid Tattoo](http://www.yelp.com/biz_photos/rock-solid-tattoo-hawaii-honolulu?select=h3E-Uk9qCdsI-RaSUb3paQ#h3E-Uk9qCdsI-RaSUb3paQ), who have some really gorgeous work but I'm having trouble hunting down an actual website. Both of these studios appear to be in Honolulu, though, and I don't know anything yet about the other islands.
> 
> If any of y'all have further insight into tattoo artists in Hawaii to see (or to avoid, and that includes the ones I just mentioned!), drop a line. I'll collect the links for next week's update.
> 
>  
> 
> Something I forgot to mention last week was that the tomato sauce John was making is [actually my personal favorite](http://smittenkitchen.com/blog/2010/01/tomato-sauce-with-butter-and-onions/). Not super fast, but super easy and super tasty.
> 
>  
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. It was a lot of fun to write.


	49. chop chop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've raised the rating on this story because of this chapter. You might not want to read it on your break at work...

"I told my math teacher I had a family thing next week," Stiles explained, dumping his bag and closing the door behind them before toeing his shoes off. (Or trying, anyway. He caught the hem of his jeans, which kept him from getting enough leverage on one of them.) "I don't know if she doesn't know it's just me and my dad, or if she thinks family things are more important when the family's small." He shrugged, but he was half bent over to try and see why his shoes wasn't coming off and nearly fell over.

Derek caught his shoulder and held on until Stiles was steady again, then locked the door before working on his own boots. Quietly, because nearly braining himself on the floor hadn't exactly done anything to distract Stiles from his train of thought.

"So yeah. I've got next week's assignments, so I can do those ahead. I'm already, like, three weeks ahead in history." Stiles paused and Derek twisted a bit to look up, catching Stiles frowning and only halfway through shedding the jacket he was wearing over that-damn-red-hoodie. "I'll probably catch up to Christmas break soon, actually. Hunh. Cool." He shrugged and wiggled out of the remainder of his jacket. "Those assignments can take forever though, so I just do them when I have time. My English teacher has some kind of hard on for Halloween, so she told us already that we're doing a special unit on spooky short stories for next week. Poe probably," he grunted, rolling his eyes and leaning against the wall. "I hate Poe. If I have to read The Telltale Heart again, I swear..."

"Not that I don't love listening to you talk," Derek interrupted, bracing his hands against his knees to make it easier to keep an eye on Stiles and hoping he'd pick up on enough of the honest fondness through the bond to realize he wasn't being mocked. "But is there a reason you're giving me a rundown on how far ahead of your schoolwork you are?"

Stiles blinked at him, then made an impatient noise and gestured at his boots. "Dude, we can't make out on the couch while you still have those on. Chop chop." Derek rolled his eyes and went back to his laces. Because zippers were for people who wouldn't blow them out with the wrong twist of a super powered ankle. "I'm trying to explain that I'm going to have, like, practically no homework I need to do, between the full moon and Halloween. Deaton's letting me come in twice over the weekend too, so I can just head straight to your place after school Monday. Uh, if that would be--"

" _Perfect_ ," Derek reassured, finally pulling his feet free and straightening up just in time to see Stiles grinning, smelling like apples and warmth and spicy-musk. "That would be amazing."

"Uh, good." Stiles coughed and looked to the side, rubbing a hand over the back of his head, scent going a little soggy around the edges. "I don't know if Dad's coming or not. It's... Well, full moon. Kind of a busy time of month for him anyway?" Stiles grimaced. "So, even without the whole wolfy thing...yeah."

Derek snorted and stepped in so he could rest his hands on Stiles' hips and bump their foreheads together. "He isn't shooting us or trying to move away and take you with him. He's doing a great job of adjusting. We're happy."

"You guys have really warped perceptions of what good adjustment means," Stiles muttered, but his heart wasn't in it. 

Derek suspected, based on the sudden wave of apple-spice-musk and the hands settling against his sides, that Stiles' heart was already on the couch trying to figure out if he could get away with grinding against Derek's thigh.

Fuck. He'd been aiming for reassuring, but all he could think about now was the heat and promise in those hands. The smell of Stiles. The way his tongue flicked out to wet his lips.

Right. Talking.

"We have experience with this sort of thing," Derek reminded him, his thoughts skirting around Thomas, and that horrible period when they thought Vic had lost Cara because of them. "Trust me. You're the anomaly."

"Along with your dad and grandmother?" Stiles snarked, before swaying closer and making a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. "So that talk about boundaries, and stuff? Can we do that before I die, here?"

Talking was a horrible idea. _Want_ was stretching out along the bond, making Derek hyperaware of the space between them, of every inch they were touching. 

"I had a thought about that." Stiles made an inquisitive noise, then a grumpy one when Derek pulled back enough to see both of Stiles' eyes at the same time. He really needed the space if he was going to make words work, though. "It involved an empty house, setting an alarm to give us warning before your dad should get home, and learning by doing instead of talking. Because we're not so great at that."

"Are you--" Stiles laughed and let his head drop down onto Derek's shoulder. "If we aren't actually having sex, I am probably going to end up jerking off in the bathroom," he admitted, words muffled. "Just so you know."

Assuming it wasn't _Derek_ exiled to the bathroom. He'd be able to hear, though. Easier than he had when Stiles had been in the shower, and with less guilt because Stiles _knew_ , now.

The thought put a warm curl in Derek's gut. One Stiles could feel, from the sudden hitch in his breath. "Consider it encouraged," he said, letting a bit of a rumble into his voice and hearing Stiles' pulse kick up in the best way possible.

"Oh my god, we need to get upstairs," Stiles muttered, pulling back abruptly and snagging Derek's sleeve (he was still wearing his _jacket_ , fuck) and heading for the stairs. "We are not doing this on the couch. Okay?" He stopped abruptly, conflicted, and Derek nearly ran into his back. " _Is_ that okay?"

"Fine," Derek confirmed, giving Stiles a bit of a push with the arm they were currently sharing possession of. "Go."

(Neither of them really remembered the stairs. Derek barely remembered shutting the door.)

Stiles stripped out of his hoodie and tossed it over the back of his computer chair before turning back to Derek, smelling of nerves and want and himself all jumbled in a heady mess. "Uh, I didn't exactly--"

He actually started tidying his desk. What the hell.

"Set an alarm," Derek reminded him, more to give Stiles something to do with his hands than anything. "At least half an hour before there's any chance of your dad showing up."

"Right," Stiles muttered, hands still busy with a stack of papers, eyes busy staring as Derek slipped out of his jacket, and not moving until Derek cocked an eyebrow at him. "Right! Not traumatizing my dad. Good plan."

Stiles pulled his phone out and focused on that while Derek emptied his pockets onto a free bit of shelf space. 

"Okay, done." Stiles said, walking over to set his phone on one of the headboard shelves. "What--"

Derek stepped in behind him and nuzzled at the nape of his neck. Slipped his fingers into Stiles' pockets and over the bones of his hips, just because he could. Listened to the not-quite-whimper that caught in Stiles' throat. "You wanted rules, right?" He waited until Stiles nodded, then kissed behind his ear. "We go slow. Do whatever we feel like. If either of us needs to stop, we stop. If something feels wrong, we stop and see if we want to talk about it. And if we need to...be in different rooms, I am definitely going to be listening in. Just so you know."

"Fuck," Stiles bent his head back over Derek's shoulder (all of that neck, _right there_ ) and his hips twitched against Derek's hands. "That should not be that hot."

Maybe they should _start_ in different rooms.

"You okay?" Derek asked instead, giving in to the temptation to brush a kiss against Stiles' throat.

That got him another twitch, a fantastic shiver, and a moan that was only half sex. The other half sounded (felt) like disbelief and regret. "Fantastic. So fantastic, in fact, that I think I need to excuse myself. So--"

Stiles squirmed loose of Derek's grip, but stopped when Derek got a hand on his shoulder. "I can--"

That earned him a snort and a light shove toward the bed. "Dude, if you're jerking off in my house, I want it to be _in my bed_."

Derek was fairly certain his brain short-circuited, at that. And Stiles wasn't done yet.

"If you're not, that's fine too, but _let me imagine_ , okay? Here." Stiles thumped a box of tissues against his chest and gave him a shit eating grin before heading for the door again. "Lotion's on the headboard."

Stiles closed the door firmly behind himself and for a long moment Derek wasn't able to do more than blink after him.

Then the bathroom door clicked shut, and there was another dull thump, like-- Like a body slumping against the door, and Stiles was moaning even before Derek heard his fly go down.

And he was still standing in the middle of the floor, painfully hard, clutching a box of tissues so hard he'd ripped one side open.

" _Fuck_."

Derek tossed the tissues up near the pillows and stripped out of his shirt (and if he threw it into what looked and smelled like a pile of clean laundry, that was nobody's business but his and Stiles') before letting himself stretch out, face down in Stiles' pillow. He was rutting against the mattress before he'd had a chance to think about it.

He wasn't going to need the lotion. He _was_ going to need the change of pants he'd brought.

In the bathroom, Stiles' breath caught and the bond flooded with pleasure, hot and sharp. Stiles did whatever-it-was again and Derek felt his back curl up in response, pulling him tight.

The space between them might as well have not existed. All he could smell was Stiles, all he could hear was Stiles, all he could _feel_ was Stiles, belonged to Stiles, was because of Stiles. 

He was glad for the pillow under his face, because whatever noise he made when he came, Derek was certain it was both loud and embarrassing.

Stiles' wasn't. Stiles' was just loud.

\-----

It probably wasn't that long before Stiles started moving around again, but Derek couldn't be sure. His head felt stuffed and heavy, in the best possible way.

He tried to start moving when Stiles did, though. Wanted to assess the damage and clean up, if he could.

He ended up keeping an ear out for Stiles and just stripping entirely to get rid of his underwear. It was the best he could do, with the time he had and his bag _still downstairs_.

Derek was finishing buttoning up his fly when Stiles came back in. No knock, but...well, it _was_ his room and Stiles could tell he wasn't still--

Right.

Stiles was already flushed and relaxed and fucking edible (and the _wall_ of scent he brought with him, _fuck_ ), so the choked off noise he made when he saw Derek was definitely unfair. "Dude. Why--" 

"If you finish that question," Derek interrupted, rolling his eyes and hoping he wasn't blushing. "You might end up in the bathroom again."

Not that that stopped Stiles' eyes from skipping around the room. The mauled tissues. The shirt Derek had rescued from on top of Stiles' laundry to bundle his underwear in, wrapped up and crammed in a corner. The untouched lotion on the headboard.

Stiles grinned. Derek threw one of his pillows at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, so tired. Nothing to do with this story, or even stress at work. I love this time of year, but it always makes me lethargic.
> 
> No tattoo links today, but if anyone out there has a favorite artist they'd like me to show off, I'll do that for next week. Just drop a comment here or an ask on tumblr with a link, and I'll do my best to get them into the next chapter's notes.
> 
> Usual thanks and eternal gratitude to the enigmatic roommate for the beta, and for convincing me I didn't completely fail at writing this chapter.


	50. Are you laughing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I am _really_ sorry about the wait. The best way to keep apprised of late updates like this one is now officially my [tumblr](http://billtheradish.tumblr.com/), because I have the (awkward, but there) capability to update that from my phone. (I mostly use my queue and catch up in spurts, so it's just three posts per day aside from fic updates and the occasional accidental repost-not-queue.)
> 
> For everyone not already keeping up there, I am again so sorry. My internet went down Monday, so I couldn't post when I got home from work. Then my favorite coffee shop had router issues the next morning. So until now-ish, I've essentially just had my phone.

Stiles' scent was--more, in his room. Stronger. Purer. Lingering hints of exhaustion and sex overpowering the other traces of his life. Intimate in a way Derek wasn't sure a human could understand.

Stiles tossed the pillow back on the bed and stepped into Derek's space again, lip caught between his teeth in a look that was such pure calculation it was almost funny. Would have been funny, if it hadn't been making Derek's gut twist in an unhappy mix of arousal and nerves.

He wasn't a puzzle, or prey. He didn't want-- They shouldn't--

"Oh my god," Stiles sighed, expression dropping into guilty dismay with alarming speed. "How have I fucked this up already?"

Derek exhaled, slow and controlled, and took a step to follow Stiles when he tried to back off and give Derek room again. Let himself lean in until their foreheads and noses brushed together. Until they shared breath and Stiles relaxed and it felt unnatural keeping his eyes open.

He closed his eyes and focused on his breath, on Stiles' heart, on _feeling_.

There was a twitch at Stiles' side, his hand almost lifting then stopping. The bond surging with want that was more comfort than carnal, then just as abruptly twisting into a discordant pretzel of doubt and--guilt?

"You can--" Words sucked, and they felt weird lingering in the space between them anyway. Derek didn't growl, but only because he was positive Stiles would take it wrong. Instead, he reached for Stiles' hand.

Or, where he thought Stiles' hand was, anyway. He got an arm instead, because he didn't want to open his eyes. It worked, though. He could feel Stiles' shoulders relax, even with as little contact as they had, and Stiles didn't resist (didn't feel like he wanted to) when Derek pulled his hand up and pressed it against his side.

Stiles' fingers spread out like it was a reflex, hand slipping down until his thumb just brushed the bottom curve of Derek's ribs. It was heat and intimacy and vulnerability and comfort all at once, in just the span of a hand.

Derek failed at holding back a shiver, and Stiles pressed his smile against Derek's jaw. 

"We're just making out, right?" Stiles' voice was whisper soft, but Derek could still _feel_ the words against his neck. "Just...with you in no shirt, and in my room, and it's okay if we do something wrong, 'cause we'll just stop and talk."

He made himself nod and they both leaned in, chests brushing and knees bumping. He felt Stiles nod back, his nose scraping against the stubble on Derek's cheek. "We'll be fine, then. We're _awesome_ at that."

Derek couldn't help it. He dropped his head against Stiles' shoulder and laughed.

It made Stiles sigh heavily as he tugged them toward the bed, but he felt too fond and relieved for Derek to take it that seriously.

\-----

Stiles had _no idea_ what to do with his hands. They'd be fine, with Stiles getting a finger hooked through a belt loop or curving around Derek's ribs, then they'd move and Stiles would sometimes suddenly not be sure if it was okay for him to put them on the _bed_ , let alone anywhere on Derek.

They rolled so Stiles was leaning over Derek, flushed and grinning, and his hand just--stopped, before he could brace himself against Derek's shoulder. Flailed instead of detouring to the mattress.

Flailed worse when gravity caught up with him, and Derek had to brace him up or get a sternum to the nose. (At best.)

Derek curled up to bury his face in Stiles' shoulder and hide his laughter mostly out of habit. There was no hiding from the bond.

"Oh my god, shut up," Stiles groaned, but he was laughing too and then there were fingers threading through Derek's hair, rubbing at his scalp, and it was perfect again.

\-----

They discovered that Stiles was ticklish along the backs of his arms when a light touch ended with Stiles twisting away, yanking his arm up and away and--into Derek's nose.

"Oh shi-- Sorry," Stiles gasped, trying to squirm his way back into Derek's space, sitting halfway up to give himself the room to rub his arm. "You--" 

He went still, hand hovering worriedly in the air between them, expression flicking through surprise, confusion, indignation.

" _Are you laughing?_ " he demanded, rolling Derek onto his back again and crouching over him like a hawk guarding a meal. "Seriously?"

Derek shrugged and raised a hand to wipe the blood away. Didn't bother trying to smooth the grin off his face. "Not technically." Just in his head.

Yeah, it had hurt. But the pain was there and gone and left behind the _faces_ Stiles was making.

"Oh my god, you're the worst," Stiles huffed, settling into a more natural posture (straddling Derek's thighs, his brain insisted on pointing out helpfully) and going back to rubbing his arm.

\-----

"It's weird, being fully dressed when you're mostly...not." Stiles huffed, fingers skating over the curve of Derek's ear and grinning at the shiver that got him.

Brat.

"Could take your socks off," Derek offered, most of his attention on the stretch of Stiles' throat. The intensity of his scent. Figuring out how to nuzzle without scratching the hell out of Stiles' skin. (Wishing he'd thought to shave.)

Stiles snorted, sharp amusement turning his scent lemon-candy sweet as he--

Derek snorted and pulled his feet away from the teasing poke of Stiles' bare toes.

"Could take my shirt off," Stiles said offhand, when their feet had settled down again. "That'd be fine, wouldn't it?"

Technically, supposedly, yes. But-- "You don't feel okay with that."

That brought up a swell of sour impatience (with himself, not with Derek), but did nothing to dispel the uneasy tangle of determination and doubt that had been sitting between them, growing in time with the twitches in Stiles' knees.

"It's just-- It's _stupid_ ," Stiles protested, short and vicious and full of snags and sharp tangles. "I took my shirt off for you before. I can walk around in _public_ without my shirt. Why--"

"Why doesn't matter," Derek cut him off, hugging Stiles close and pressing a kiss to the corner of his jaw. "This is different, anyway."

" _You're_ okay being shirtless," Stiles grumbled, but he was relaxing again. Scent softening. Tangles loosening.

Derek grinned against his jaw. "Werewolf. I run around the forest naked sometimes, remember?"

The same argument applied, Derek knew, but that wasn't the point. The _point_ was the way Stiles' breath caught, how his mouth fell open just a bit and how the air went dense with apple-spice-musk again.

Derek nipped at Stiles' ear, and relished the noise he got for his troubles.

\-----

Stiles couldn't trace a line up Derek's throat without pulling up memories better left forgotten. Derek couldn't get his hands on Stiles' ass without feeling guilty, but Stiles was more than happy to slip his hands in Derek's back pockets for a quick squeeze, once they figured out that was okay. 

Teeth on Stiles' ears were good. Lips, tongue, fingers, and _breath_ were off limits, on pain of the flailing and yelling of the incredibly ticklish. 

Teeth on Derek's neck were-- _temporarily_ off limits. 

That discovery sent Stiles rushing to the bathroom, the bond thrown open to too much, too much, too much...

\-----

"I am making _so much use of that_ , someday," Stiles remarked afterward, only mostly-coherent but happy, and still slumped against the bathroom door while Derek went downstairs for his bag. "If it's ever not bad."

This was _not_ what Derek had been thinking when he packed a change of clothes.

Upstairs, the alarm went off.

\-----

By the time John got home, Derek's old clothes were shoved under a few days worth of laundry, and Stiles' room was cleaned up enough that it didn't smell too much like sex (both at Stiles' insistence, and in spite of his grumbling). There were chicken breasts in the oven, baking in onions and leftover tomato sauce, and Derek and Stiles were trying to figure out how to make a salad dressing that wouldn't suck with only dried herbs, non-fat mayo and apple cider vinegar.

They might as well have not bothered. John took one look at them and sighed, running a hand over his face before he started for the stairs. "Aren't you two supposed to be taking things slow?"

"We _are_ ," Stiles protested, rolling his eyes but blushing. "Mostly."

Derek kept his attention on the ground mustard. Maybe, if he just focused on getting all the lumps broken up and refused to acknowledge anything else, he could ignore the fact that he was probably just as red as Stiles.

" _Mostly_ ," John muttered upstairs, soft and scornful and obviously not meant to be overheard. "Jesus Christ."

\-----

Dinner wasn't as awkward as it could have been.

That wasn't saying much.

"I could have sworn you two were supposed to be keeping to public spaces," John pointed out, cutting into one of the chicken breasts with a _little_ more intensity than the task really called for.

"Yeeeeeeeeeeup," Stiles agreed, bobbing in his seat as he rearranged his salad with far more precision and care that a bunch of greens really merited. "So, yeah. About that."

"Public spaces would mean less stubble burn," John pointed out, faux helpful, before shoving a forkful of chicken and rice into his mouth. 

Maybe, if he really worked at it, Derek could vanish into the table. That sounded like an excellent plan. 

Somehow, Stiles managed not to try and shield his neck. Derek was pretty sure he wouldn't have been able to manage that, but Stiles was-- Stiles was embarrassed and _mad_ , not embarrassed and guilty. Maybe that was why.

Stiles set his fork down and braced his elbows against the table. "Not really. That's mostly just Derek rubbing his face against my neck." (John choked on the bite he'd just taken. Derek tried revisiting becoming one with the table.) "Which is actually _entirely_ what he was doing. It's a scent thing," Stiles waved it off as unimportant. "But definitely tame enough for public. Promise."

John cleared his throat noisily, shooting his son a pointed look when Stiles reached over to rub Derek's back.

Not that Derek was there at all. Nope. _Table_.

"Son," John started, then sighed and rubbed over his eyes. "I'm worried about you. I'm allowed to do that."

"And I'm allowed to take care of my mate," Stiles said, as though that was just simple reality and not-- 

(No hesitation. No stutter over a word hiding a concept that was so new and so _huge_. No trace in his scent or heartbeat or the bond that he'd meant anything by it. Used it out of anything but reflex.)

Stiles had to feel that something was going on in Derek's head, but that didn't stop him. "And part of that's going to mean that, fine, I will talk to you about _all_ the embarrassing details, if that's what it takes. But can you not put so much effort into traumatizing Derek? He comes pre-traumatized, Dad! It's a thing."

Derek was, sadly, not a table. He wouldn't have been able to hide his face in his hands if he was a table. "Tact," he offered into the tense, peppery silence between the Stilinskis. "It's a thing."

Stiles snorted, amused and affectionate but ultimately dismissive. "Not one I've heard of."

"You can say that again," John sighed, but he let Stiles move the conversation to weekend plans, after that.

Derek wished he wasn't so relieved, by that.

\-----

Stiles caught him at the door, after dinner and an episode of something that, honestly, could have been a gritty procedural or a comedy. Derek hadn't been paying attention to anything past the scent and feel of Stiles leaning against his side, and the sketchbook between them. "You gonna be okay tonight?'

Probably not, but Derek smiled anyway. "I'd been thinking of spending it here, before all this," Derek admitted.

Stiles snorted. "I'd been wondering why you had clothes. Figured you'd just planned ahead."

"Not like that."

Stiles snickered and stepped in for a hug that was more of a full body scent exchange than anything, with the way he wiggled into a comfortable position. "I'll talk with Dad. It'll be okay."

At some point, someday, he was going to be able to take care of Stiles in return. Wouldn't be an unpredictable wreck. 

"Try to sleep," Derek whispered against Stiles' temple. It was the best he could do, in the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No tattoo links this week. I didn't get any recs, and I am way out of it this morning. I do have bad news, though. This whole internet crashing thing came _after_ I had already determined I needed to take another break.
> 
> **Indelible Marks will be on hiatus until December 2nd.**
> 
> I'm actually not satisfied with this chapter. I've had a lot of chapters like that recently. I'm hurrying every week to try and get a decent update out, and the cost of that is that I feel like I've lost track a bit of where I'm going with the story and where I _need_ to go with it. So this break is going to be me writing off a deadline and off chapter breaks (the way I used to) so I can try and get a better grip on this thing.
> 
> Worried I'm going to drop this? Don't be. The series I.N.K. is going to have three works in it, and the part I haven't been able to write yet is the part I'm looking forward to the most. If I haven't given up after a year and some odd months, when I'd never thought this was going to take very long to begin with, then I'm not giving up now when I'm finally got my eye on the end game.


	51. I saw that

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The triumphant return! It's been a while, so thank you for your patience.
> 
> I'd hoped to have a general timeline recap done by now, to help out anyone who was having trouble remembering where in the story we were. In the end, I prioritized _keeping writing_ over a timeline I'd need to go back and verify the order on. (Do I remember what's happened in my story? Generally, yes. Do I remember the order it's all in? Alarmingly, yes, but usually from a contextual basis. Can I relay that to others? Nope! I actually have a long history of problems with putting things in order, particularly chronological.)

It was dark, but Derek ran home. He didn't know what kept Stiles from insisting on driving him, if it was John's concern, or forgetfulness, or something Stiles felt through the bond, but he was grateful for it. For the quiet, and the dark, the air, the space.

The chance to smell a little _less_ like he'd just had sex with his boyfriend.

(Which he had. That was what that was, separate rooms or not, in every court that counted.)

(He needed to not think about court.)

Derek focused on his run, on the mostly steady rhythm of feet over uneven terrain, on the burn that teased at the edge of his awareness when he pushed for more speed. On the scents held in by the trees.

The traces left by his grandmother's patrol were fresh. Recent. His father's were fainter. Almost dull enough that he might be on his way back around.

Derek ran faster. There was no world in which he wanted to know whether his father would laugh, applaud, or yell, on smelling him.

\-----

His phone buzzed twenty strides before Derek hit the tree line. It was easier to wait until the trees were out of the way before swinging his bag around to pull the phone out. Less chance of snagging something on a branch, or--

_Fck ys. Bed smells like u. Best evr_

Derek tripped over his own feet.

At some point, probably in the _far_ distant future, Stiles was going to stop surprising him.

Probably.

"I saw that," Laura announced gleefully from one of the living room windows before bouncing toward the door as Derek reluctantly let himself in (bending down to scoop up Patch as he went, because this was what life with kittens was like, apparently). "What did he say? The _look_ on your face was--"

He could tell exactly when Laura caught his scent because she slid to a halt mid-sentence, the better to gape at him. 

He took the opportunity to set his bag down and toe out of his shoes. (And to frown at them, because he'd apparently ripped through the mesh without noticing. There was a long gash along the outer edge of the right shoe. He was going to need to figure out some way of gluing that down or something until he could get another pair.)

He thought about getting his boots out, so he wouldn't have to carry them to his room, or getting a sketchbook out for after Laura was done reacting, but. The inside of his bag probably smelled like Stiles' house, and possibly even more incriminatingly than he did.

It could wait.

" _Oh my god_ ," Laura finally huffed, all exaspiration and irritation and launching herself at him in a hug anyway. Because Laura. (He was expecting it, but it still pushed him back a step, making Patch scrabble to flee from where she'd been investigating his shoes.) "I thought you were going to wait until he was eighteen, you weirdo. Are you okay? Is he okay?" Laura pulled back abruptly to frown at him. "I don't want details. I'm not asking how it was, just--"

He covered her mouth with a hand before she could make it any worse.

Of course, it was Laura, so all he really got was an immediate and disgustingly wet lick.

"Ugh," he grunted, pulling his hand away to wipe it on her shirt.

Laura didn't really notice, too busy making a face and licking her sleeve to scrub the taste off. "Oh, god, you didn't wash your hands enough."

Derek huffed a sigh and shoved Laura away. His life. What even.

"Maybe you could have this conversation somewhere other than the entryway?" Tania suggested from the third floor landing, leaning over the banister to stare judgmentally down at them.

And of course, that was just the perfect setup for his mother. "Agreed. How about my study?"

Which she was in, obviously. Because his mother was conniving but also kind of lazy, sometimes.

Derek shoved at Laura's shoulder as he pushed past her. She growled and jumped on his back in retaliation, and he ended up grabbing her thighs and giving her a piggyback ride all the way down the hall.

There wasn't really any point in protesting.

\-----

Laura kicked the study door shut behind them, and just tightened her grip when Derek went to drop her. Derek huffed, dropped them both onto the couch instead, and tried to ignore the way his mother and sister both felt like approval as he did.

He tried to ignore the twitch to his mother's nose and amused smirk too, but it wasn't easy.

"I know you didn't want me in here so you could lecture me," he tried pointing out, but it just made his mother's smirk deeper.

"Pot. Kettle," she agreed before standing up from the desk and walking over to push Derek and Laura into a configuration she could sit next to and lean against. "I just wanted to make sure you're taking care of yourself. You've been a little on edge, lately."

Laura stifled a laugh and showed that she was worried too by biting his head. (She was lucky he loved her and had lived with her weirdness long enough to understand what she meant by it.) 

"I'm fine," he tried, and sighed when his mother just leaned away so she could give him a deeply unimpressed look. "I will be fine. Stiles is...good. He's being good, about this."

Her snort was skeptical, but she didn't poke him for anything more. Leaned in again to press against his side. "Is there anything you need?"

A shower. A really long, thorough shower, so he'd stop feeling the need to flinch whenever he saw someone's nose twitch. 

"I'm not going to sleep well," he said instead, and resolutely ignored his sister's subvocal whine. "Could I relieve Dad for patrol?"

His mother twisted an arm up to tweak his nose. "Relieve Mom instead. She's got her tea with the ladies tomorrow, the extra sleep would do her well."

And she'd cope best if Derek had to wake her up after only a few hours of sleep. He just nodded, accepting the unsaid.

"Ugh, you're the worst," Laura sighed, getting up and tugging at his shirt. "C'mon. I'll run with you for a while."

"Don't get distracted from actually patrolling," their mother reminded them, taking advantage of Laura's absence to kiss Derek's hair before releasing him. "And don't break the forest. They're hard to replace."

Derek didn't need to look over at his sister to know she was rolling her eyes along with him.

Laura stripped out of her shirt on her way to the door, already rolling her shoulders into the shift before she hesitated at the door. (There were no kittens, now. Laura still scared them, and Laura with a specific goal in mind scared anyone sensible.)

"Going to try for a full shift?" Derek asked, keeping his eyes down as he pulled his socks off. He'd leave the rest of his clothes. He didn't mind running dressed, had plenty of practice with it, and they'd learned it was always good to have _someone_ who could pass for normal in any group. 

Socks balled up and tossed into the corner with Laura's shirt, Derek flexed his toes until they cracked, claws there and gone in a blink of instinct. Passing for normal or not, he wasn't going to keep his feet tied up and confined if he didn't have to.

"Thinking about it," Laura agreed, humming before dropping her hands to her pants and wiggling her way out of them. (Derek still couldn't wrap his brain around how she could do that without gouging herself on a claw or punching holes in her pants.) "You mind? It's a good night for it."

He rolled his eyes, pushed past her on his way for the door. "Yeah. It's such a hardship for me when you can't talk."

Laura's bra went flying into the rest of her pile of clothes, and there were suddenly teeth snapping behind his lower back. Playful, teasing teeth. But still. _Teeth_.

Derek took off, mind already seeking out the rock-steady pull of his grandmother.

\-----

Laura only lasted a few hours before the lure of sleep pulled her back to the house. She hadn't quite managed a full shift, but she came close. Had a snout full of predator's teeth and a full coat of fur for a good hour, even if her shape was still more human than canid.

The run was pleasant, with or without company, even if he never quite relaxed into it. He learned that there were a pair of illegal campers in their territory (harmless smelling and easy enough to avoid), that the badger by the creek had moved half a mile upstream from the last time he'd paid attention to it, that the bats had migrated, their musk-sharp scent starting to weaken even around their favorite roosts.

He ran until his mother slid out of the shadows, two hours before dawn. Sniffed at his hip and gut before snorting and pressing her shoulder to his leg.

Time to go home.

\-----

It'd been past time, Derek realized, when he didn't lift his foot enough for the last step and nearly took a header into the porch.

He caught himself against the railing and froze, listening for anyone else awake in the house. His father was laughing softly in the kitchen, but he was already awake and didn't count. 

(There was also the inquisitive thump of kitten heartbeats clustered near the door, which also didn't count but _did_ remind him to catch Patch before she could bolt, when he opened the door.)

There were tiny glowing eyes ringing his bag, still abandoned to the side of the door, and a larger pair hovering in the kitchen doorway.

"You okay?" his father asked, padding closer with footsteps just as quiet as his voice.

Derek nodded, idly reaching for words and not surprised when he didn't find them. Patrolling was brisk air and constant movement, constant awareness. It wasn't hard to stay awake and alert, for that.

Home? Home was safety and warmth and family and he had a _bed_. The rest of the world was greying over, becoming obscure against that reality.

His father chuffed and sidestepped kittens to press against his side, herding him toward the downstairs bathroom. "C'mon, you'll feel better if you rinse some of the dirt off."

Running a shower would wake up most of the house, so Derek made do with a washcloth and exhausted apathy, scrubbing and rinsing until the water ran mostly clear. (He'd wash his sheets the next day. It'd be fine.)

His father was gone by the time Derek got out of the bathroom, already upstairs and in bed. Which sounded fantastic.

Derek took care with the steps, only skipping a few at a time to keep the noise down (and reduce the opportunities for rehashing that moment on the porch). It was only when he was in his room, stripping out of his clothes and picking up the shed twigs and leaves for the trash that he remembered his bag was still downstairs.

He didn't really _need_ it, was just used to having it around, so he grumbled quietly to himself and slipped into bed.

\-----

He only woke up twice with white, blunt teeth stretching like a threat behind his eyelids.

\-----

Derek blinked down at his shoe, trying to reconcile the simple rip from the night before with the wide, gaping hole that was in it now. It was harder than it should have been, his brain churning and grinding along so slowly it felt like he was trying to think through _bubblegum_.

It wasn't until Stitch raced around his ankle and tumbled over the shoe, darting into it just before Patch caught up with him, that Derek realized what had probably happened.

What was happening then, actually, as Stitch stared out through the hole before taking a swipe at Patch through it.

Right.

Laura clapped a hand against his shoulder and steered him toward the door. "C'mon, grumpy-pants. I'll drive you to work."

She said something about thrifting and picking up a temporary replacement for him, but by that point Derek had realized she'd walked him out to her car barefoot and was more focused on digging his boots out of his bag. (Harder than it sounded, when he couldn't slip out of his seat belt and the bag was on the floorboard between his feet.)

Stiles' scent filled the car once he finally got the zipper open. Laura snorted hard enough to jerk the car slightly to one side, and Derek broke the zipper when he turned to growl at her.

His life.

\-----

The less said about trying to lace up his boots while stuck in his sister's impractical car the better.

\-----

Laura dropped him off out front instead of off the alley, so the sound of her engine was already fading by the time he'd found the right key to let himself in. (He never came in the front. Just like he didn't usually need the key for Vic and Cara's apartment, or the kitchen door at Lapin Grillé, or any of the four PO boxes the pack kept, or... Fuck, he had too many keys.)

Derek absently locked the door behind himself (he hated it when people walked in before he'd finished opening the till and making sure the shop was _actually_ clean and set up right), pausing at a hint of paper and fresh ink that didn't belong first thing in the morning.

There was a letter in the mail box, white edges visible through the decorative mesh Vic bitched about and Cara was loudly appreciative for (Cara would forget about mail for weeks at a time if she couldn't _see_ it).

Derek pulled the envelope out, unsurprised that it was unaddressed and unsealed. (It had to be a hand delivery. The post office didn't typically deliver in the middle of the night, and Derek had been the one to fetch and sort the mail yesterday _and_ the day before.) He pulled the letter out and skimmed it as he walked through the shop, turning the lights on behind him as he went (because the lights were set up for someone coming in from the _back_ , like he _usually did_ ).

It was another letter complaining about Vic and Tony's photographs in the shop window. Better spelled than usual, less focused on incoherent frothing rage, more of a 'Think of the children!' plea that _looked_ like it could pass for rational thought.

Maybe it _was_ rational thought. He wasn't really capable of passing judgment at the moment.

He left the letter in the office for Vic or Cara--one of them would be in, he just couldn't remember which--and hoped his day was done with the suck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tattoo Artist of the Week:** [Jamie Kam of Tattoo Temple](http://tattootemple.hk/jamie-kam), Hong Kong. Although, really, my preference for Jamie Kam mostly has to do with the content of the first few images in their gallery. All four artists listed on that site are amazing. (Also? One of the best Beginner's Guides I've seen. Even if there's no chance of you visiting this studio, if you're considering a tattoo then check out their informative pages!) Thanks for this rec go to a comment left under the name of CivilEngineers.
> 
> Thank y'all so much for your patience. I know how hard it can be to keep up with a story like this, and it means a lot to me to know that some of you have _actually been here_ for a year or more, now. Holy hell.


	52. cursed

There were a lot of reasons Derek loved his job. He got to draw most of the day. Talked with people about art, and designs they were passionate about. Had constant examples of people who had also made horrible life choices.

Generally speaking he had control over physical contact. Sometimes a client would touch his arm or leg to get his attention, and he'd been hugged by a few particularly happy customers, but generally _he_ was the one touching _them_ and that's the way he liked it.

When Cara finally came in a couple hours after opening, Derek had a mostly forgotten glass of water in one hand and was trying to awkwardly pat the back of the guy crying on him with the other.

Cara was an obnoxious mix of amusement and sympathy, but Derek didn't care because she was instantly dropping her bag and trotting up to the counter from the back door, not even taking the time to pull her coat off. "Oh, honey. C'mere." 

She pulled a tissue from...somewhere. Offered it to the guy and helped him straighten up and walk to a window seat.

Derek had no idea _how_ she'd done it, but he edged in close enough to leave the water near at hand then fled for the back.

"No, no, don't worry," he could hear Cara muttering, kind and light and all the things Derek didn't really remember how to be, most of the time. "I doubt he's mad, you just freaked him out because he's not so great at feelings. Now, what's up? Is this your design?"

Derek shut himself in the bathroom and ran the sink to give himself something else to listen to.

\-----

Cara knocked, and Derek turned off the sink. She didn't wait for anything else, just opened the door and leaned in. "You okay?"

"I _hate it_ when they cry," he muttered, starting toward the door and walking through it when Cara backed off to give him room.

Of course, it was Cara, so she was laughing at him. "Yeah, I know. And this one actually cried _on_ you. That's gotta suck." She reached over to pat his shoulder before heading up to the front again. "He still likes your work best, so he has a follow up consultation to go over whatever you come up with for him. I scheduled it so I'll be here for it, though."

Derek grunted an acknowledgement and followed Cara forward once he'd dug out a couple of bottles from the cleaning cupboards. "That's fine."

Cara had already cleared the papers and trash off the counter, so Derek spritzed the air with rosemary water a few times. (Niq's idea, and not something they could do too often, but it was already dampening the lingering wood-sour-metal-salt traces Latte-man had left behind.)

He'd broken out the surface cleaner and was wiping down the seats, letting the sharp chemicals of the spray keep him focused and distracted, when Cara asked, "Do you want to know what's up with your client?"

"Later," he managed to get out, hating the way the scent of the cleaning spray got into his mouth. "Not--"

"Got it."

\-----

Derek was taking a break from his random cleaning spree to fix the disaster that was their ink backsupply (apparently Tony had needed to find something in or behind the bottles. Again.) when a spike of agitation brought him back to his surroundings with a jolt.

That hadn't been Stiles.

Now that he was paying attention, the shop _stank_ of Cara's anxiety and a spicy-sweet musk he didn't recognize, and Cara's voice was the sort of forced cheerful and pleasant that generally meant she was thinking about murder.

"...sorry, but it says on the first page of my portfolio that I don't do political tattoos, or sexually violent tattoos. It's my right to--"

"It's not like I wouldn't be paying for it," the guy (not a customer) spat (not taking _that_ tone to Cara), a muffled thud suggesting he'd started leaning against the counter (Derek was already moving). "For fuck's sake! What's wrong with y--"

The not-customer didn't finish, too busy flinching back away from the sudden appearance of Derek at his shoulder.

"You should probably leave now," Cara suggested, tone mild but folding her hands under the counter to hide the way they were shaking. "If you'd like, I can email you a list of local artists who might be more willing to work with you."

She'd already be e-mailing a warning to those artists anyway, probably. She was good about that.

"What the fuck ever," the guy muttered, backing away a few steps before heading toward the door. (He never turned his back on Derek. Good plan.) "I don't need anything from you if you're going to be such a stuck up--"

Derek let himself growl, and didn't regret it at all when the guy flinched and practically _ran_ out the door.

"Well," Cara said, fake cheerful and still shaking. "That was fun."

Derek huffed and listened until the guy's footsteps were too hard to distinguish from the rest of the Saturday afternoon crowd. Walked back around the counter to drape himself over Cara's back. "Want to close up?"

"I'll be fine," she snapped, then sighed and quietly took a slow breath, shoulders relaxing a little as she exhaled. "Sorry. And it is kind of tempting," she admitted, scrunching her nose up and tilting her head back to look at him. "But I've got the first inking for the penis garden today and I was really looking forward to it."

It took Derek a second to connect 'penis garden' to Thigh-of-Dicks, but he got there. "So do a holiday close. We can call our appointments and just close up to walk ins."

Cara's entire face scrunched up and he could feel the conflicting pulls of temptation and responsibility. "No. Or," she reconsidered, face relaxing as she tried to shrug and waggle her head back and forth with a werewolf draped over her back. "Not yet. Let's give the day a chance to redeem itself."

His day had had a chance already. It'd had several. All the same, Cara was the boss, so he just wrapped around her more securely and snuffled at what little hair she had. (She was probably due to dye it again, soon. He didn't feel the need to sneeze.)

Unsurprisingly, Cara reached up to push ineffectually at his face. "Gah, stop it. I must reek."

She did. Sour-metal-fake lemon, too close to most of the cleaners they kept in the shop for busting one of them out to have much of an effect. (He'd have _doused_ her in rosemary water, if he thought she'd stand still for it.)

He didn't let go anyway. She'd smell better for the hug.

\-----

An hour later, when they'd had to kick out a not-customer who refused to produce ID to back up her claim that she was over eighteen, Cara flipped the sign to Closed and turned around, smile forced and pointedly ignoring the red faced girl still shouting through the window behind her. "So. I'm thinking we need greasy take-out. What do you think?"

Derek thought the day was cursed, but stood easily and went to fetch his wallet and keys. "Let's go."

They didn't have another appointment for an hour. Plenty of time to get food, get back, and make some calls.

\-----

They were hiding in the back with a bemused (recently arrived, unscathed) Tony (the bastard) and their second round of take out (two bags full of tacos. Round one had been to-go burgers from Floyd's) when Derek felt the change. His sense of Stiles one minute clear, if distant (awake, at Alan's, overwhelmed but not upset) then... _not_. 

He knew what direction his mate was in, but otherwise--

Cara kicked his shin, shooting him a concerned look and darting a quick glance toward Tony. Who was watching him with narrowed eyes and a frown.

So. He'd probably been making some sort of not-human noise, then. Great.

"Sorry, I-- I'm just gonna-" Derek stood up and fled for the back door, stopping just long enough to grab his phone out of his bag.

"Is he okay?" he heard Tony ask, just before the door shut.

He _did_ feel a little bad about sticking Cara with the inevitable questions, but she was more creative than him. Especially when it came to words.

(Her brain was always coming up with contingency plans anyway. They'd spent an afternoon, once, with Derek and Laura coming up with scenarios and becoming increasingly alarmed for how many of them Cara _already had plans for_.)

Derek slumped against the alley wall, pressing a button to wake his phone up and give him the lock screen.

He received a text before he'd started swiping in his code.

 _Dont worry_ , Stiles said.

Right. Because that was easy.

Derek glared at his phone, reaching for some sense of Stiles through the bond. _Any_ sense, aside from general directionality.

Stiles probably couldn't feel him either, if he hadn't felt the need to follow up yet.

There was a solution to that, though. 

_Use More Words_

Derek thumbed his screen off once the message was sent, dropping it in his pocket and scrubbing his hands over his face. (He knew himself. He'd just keep staring at his phone if he kept it out. Counting minutes, if it took--)

His phone buzzed.

_NOT breaking nethng.no danger just temp. be @ tinge son wil explan_

Good, because texting was obviously _not_ the right medium for this conversation.

 _Tonys here_ he shot back, because the last thing he needed was Stiles waltzing through the door talking about--

Wait. He wouldn't do that, because he didn't know they were-- 

_Shops closed, come thru back_

_Wtf k_

Derek sighed and thumbed the screen off again before heading inside. Completely forgot what had been happening when he stepped out.

Tony looked up, eyebrows raised expectantly, while Cara focused studiously on holding together the crumbling remains of a taco.

Right.

"Sorry. I just--"

Tony waved him off. "I don't actually want to know. So long as you're aware you're acting really weird."

Cara, because she was the worst, started laughing, then swearing as her taco fell apart all over her lap. (Which, if nothing else, was suitably distracting.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tattoo Artist of the Week** : [Mark Weiland](http://inktattoostudios.com/tattoos/) of Ink Tattoo Studios in Dubuque Iowa, as suggested by Freya (a commenter, probably not the norse god). Interesting mix of classic and modern.
> 
> This last week in particular I've been getting a lot of love and support, so I wanted to say thank you. Y'all rock, and I'm honored to have you reading. <3


	53. Hello, arm

It was a good day to close to everything but appointments (and Stiles). Cara was in the back, chattering happily away with Thigh-of-Dicks (she greeted him as Richard, and Derek was barely able to hold back a laugh. He was a horrible person) and Tony ushered in a behemoth of a bald, grinning man. He had Paul's height, Boyd's breadth, a mustache, and Tony actually hugged him, which--was kind of bizarre.

"Guys, this is Mitchel," Tony called, waiting for Cara's "Hi Mitchel!" to drift up from the back before continuing. "This is his first trip down here since I moved, so be polite, pretend to be actual people with manners, and don't make him uncomfortable, okay?"

Derek grinned, letting his teeth show, because Mitchel was beaming and giving Tony a light shove. "Glad you found a parlor of like minded people, you ass. How's Ana?"

The conversation faded to the back of Derek's attention as his sense of 'mate' turned into 'Stiles', turned into a faint but growing wash of relief and stress and the knowledge that that turn he was making was too close to be anything but the turn onto 12th. He was close. He was--

 _Hello_ , arm.

Derek blinked, refocusing. Gold, orange, blue-black in the foreground. Intense geometrics over watercolor washes.

Mitchel's whole arm was _drenched_ in color. Derek mapped the honeycomb grid over Mitchel's shoulder with his eyes, tracing down as it broke apart into fragmented hexagons as the ink scattered across his biceps, shifting into other shapes and broken-off lines that became starbursts and x's (and flowers, those were _flowers_ tucked into the crook of his elbow) before they came together in looser lines, making paths that wound down his forearm, interlocking into the hint of a labyrinth just as the design started to just--fade out, the watercolor background following shortly after. 

Tony closed his hand around Mitchel's wrist before Derek could decide how he'd dealt with the different rates of fade between the background and foreground, touched Mitchel's elbow as a pivot point and rolled the inside of Mitchel's forearm up to-- There was a patch of skin, creasing and still shiny, where the lines twisted, went dull and blurry and wrong and fuck. It wasn't big, but _fuck_.

"I hate you," Tony remarked idly, sighing as he finally released Mitchel's arm. "Seriously. Stop living. Just go and be art somewhere. It'll make me happier."

"So you don't want to talk about expanding onto my chest, so long as I'm in town?" Mitchel teased from...inside his sweatshirt, as he shucked it the rest of the way off. (Derek wondered how he hadn't noticed that, and how much of Mitchel's head was covered that whole time.) "You won't be able to work on the scar anyway. I just wanted you to have a chance to see what you're gonna be working with, when it heals."

There was more, as Mitchel turned to follow Tony's aggravated stalk toward the back. Hints of green with gold and red lines tapering up to the base of his skull, from the collar of his shirt. A twisting mess of indigo and slate with slightly raised red lines up the other and Stiles was _approaching the alley_ already.

Derek slipped into the back while Tony was distracted, brushing past Cara on her way to curiously peer around the wall at the newcomer, and Thigh-- _Richard_ (he really needed to _remember that name_ ), who had his eyes closed and was clearly focusing on breathing.

Cara had just gotten to his ankle. She had gotten him some water before abandoning him for the shiny, at least.

Derek slipped out the back door, leaning against it as Stiles turned into the alley. (He kept his arms behind him. The back door was metal, and had enough scratches that a few more wouldn't be incriminating, if he needed to gouge something.) The smile that flickered over Stiles' face was fleeting and shy to match the unease settled like a lump in his stomach. Derek suspected his own was a fair match. "So?"

"So," Stiles said, grimacing as he shuffled around a bag that hadn't quite made it in the can (Derek didn't think it was because of the trash). "That was kind of an accident? But totally a good one, and I can undo it if we want, and--yeah."

Which--told him nothing. Derek sighed. "Stiles."

(Well, it told him one thing. It told him that Stiles probably didn't know what a 'happy little accident' was, and that Stiles needed to be introduced to the weirdly compelling zen that was Bob Ross. But that wasn't the information he was after.)

"Deaton wanted to test my reading ability. Like, what I did with his notes?" Stiles grimaced again, less intentional and more of a severe wince, this time around. "So he handed me a tarot deck. One of the traditional or classic or whatever ones, and I looked at a few of them and--" Stiles' arms flew up over his head (nearly clipping Derek with an elbow) and he made a sound that Derek could only assume was supposed to be an explosion.

"Rider-Waite," he offered when Stiles hesitated for a moment. Then, when Stiles skidded off his mental tracks in an all-but-audible crash of confusion, "The classic tarot deck. That's usually the Rider-Waite."

"Of course you know that," Stiles huffed, then finally stepped in close enough to lean against the door next to Derek, bumping their shoulders together and pressing against his side. "But yeah. Those are, like, _novels_ packed into a--not, like, novels that make _sense_ , though," he said, words falling out in an abrupt rush even as Stiles wound up tighter and tighter next to him. "It's all flashes of meaning and fragments and, like, someone took Hunter S. Thompson's journals, the ones _he_ wouldn't be able to do more than guess what things meant, and tried to make a religion out of how everything was connected." He shook his head, some of the harder tension leaking off as Stiles found something on the ground to pin his attention on. "It's _crazy_. I mean, there's a lot of consistency in the repetition, but there's just--"

HIs hands spasmed, like he was trying to get a grip on the air, but there were no more words. Derek breathed a sigh, turning his head so he could nose against his mate's cheek, trying to get a better read. Stiles was calming down, wood starting to push aside the acrid traces of Alan's office and his own alarm, but he was still distracted, jittery. _Unnerved_ (the way he hadn't been when Derek's mother had walked out of the dark, eyes glowing like a nightmare, and what did that say about the tarot deck?), even as he turned into Derek's touch, mouth curling affectionately.

Which still didn't tell Derek what he needed to _know_ , so-- "And then?"

Stiles' heartrate sped up, a sour note working its way back in as his eyes darted to the side. "Aaaaaand, then I wound up slapping these two cards together, because they felt like us and patience?" He tapped at his chest, over what had to be a pocket somewhere under his hoodie, because it crinkled like paper. "Everything else was so complicated, but this just..." He frowned, calming again and centering in a way Derek could almost feel. Thinking hard enough, fast enough, that it seemed like an audible buzz. "They felt like an answer so I put them together and Deaton sighed at me a lot. But--" Stiles leaned away enough to duck his head down and look at Derek sidelong, almost apologetic. "It's temporary? We just have to untie the cards to undo it. We, Deaton and I. We tested it with, uh, something a little, um, safer." He winced and plowed on. "Anyway. Yeah. So--it's, it's sort of like brakes? Or, no, kiddie harness. One of those bungee things some people put on their kids, to keep them from running off or getting too far away. So it's all still there, it's just...a little tied up?" Stiles made a face, hovering somewhere between appalled and intrigued. "Uh. I didn't mean-- I mean, that kind of sounds like I'm implying bondage, now, and--"

His mate. His _life_. That entire _fucking day_.

Derek huffed and leaned into Stiles. _Kept_ leaning until Stiles caught on and pushed back with a tiny smile it looked like he was trying (failing) to repress. 

"Okay," Derek said, sounding patient and fond even to himself. "And did you learn anything important?"

"Yeah," Stiles snarked, rolling his eyes and slumping more of his weight into Derek. "'Don't do random shit without talking it over with Deaton first.'" Then he sighed, guilt leaking through the bond and looking away. "And, uh, you. For bond stuff. 'Cause I kind of realized after the fact that that was kind of an asshole thing to do without warning."

Good enough.

But.

"Why did it feel like an answer to _you_?" Derek asked, keeping his eyes on the pavement (where it felt safe). "You haven't exactly been advocating waiting."

"Yeah, well, virgin," Stiles gestured to himself, expansive enough that Derek didn't need to look up to see it. "Really hot," he pointed at Derek. "Also _mine_. Which, it turns out, is a huge turn on."

Derek smirked and curled his fingers in slowly, checking his claws against the door until they were blunt nails again. Ignored the curl of heat spreading between them. He--liked that. He liked that a _lot_. But. "Doesn't answer the question."

Stiles sighed, loud and intentionally obnoxious and Derek was watching him again before he realized he'd moved his head. "Look. As long as nobody's trying to actually split us up, I can handle waiting. It doesn't matter if I know why it's important to you, really, does it? Because I don't, and I still think it's stupid."

And--yup. That was the mature and responsible teenager he'd apparently decided to spend his life with.

" _But_ ," Stiles insisted, jaw tense and irritated with whatever impression he was getting off Derek, "that's irrelevant. Because it stresses you out and makes you feel bad, and I kind of hate that."

Oh.

Stiles unzipped his hoodie, reaching inside and extracing an envelope that _reeked_ of Alan's office. Held it up. "This isn't taking anything away. It's just...patience. It feels like it's--muffling? Is muffling the right word? Like it's--"

"Yeah," Derek agreed quickly, smiling when Stiles relaxed minutely, letting the hand with the cards drop. "I can feel you now, but I couldn't when you were at Alan's."

It wasn't as intense either, he realized. Hints he had to reach for, to make sense of. Less immersive, but enough.

It'd probably be easier for them to make out without getting too caught up, now.

Derek pressed his claws against the door again, willing them back.

He--kind of wanted to test that out. 

Stiles had gone still, hand closed a little too tight around the cards and paused in the motion and tucking them back in his shirt. Apple. Spice. Musk. 

"I-- You--" Stiles huffed, pure exasperation that Derek _knew_ was just a show, before hissing "What about this is sexy?"

Derek grinned, slow and intent and showing his teeth. "Thinking about kissing you," he admitted, grin stretching as Stiles' heartbeat skipped up a beat. "Seeing if it'd take longer, to get so worked up we couldn't help ourselves."

"Oh my fucking _god_ ," Stiles groaned, twisting a little to thunk his head on Derek's shoulder. "Dad's _home_ this afternoon, you asshole."

"My boss and coworker and two clients are just inside," Derek pointed out, lifting a hand to pat Stiles' shoulder. It wasn't an apology, but he was too smug to really pull one off anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, sorry guys. I wanted to make this a longer chapter, but the next section's been fighting me. (Next week will see a little more of Tinge, and more of the Hales.)
> 
>  **Tattoo Artist of the Week:** [Petra Ha Hlavackova](http://tattrx.tumblr.com/tagged/petra-ha) of Prague, Czech Republic.
> 
>  
> 
> I have this horrible feeling that I'm forgetting to tell y'all something. I'll probably remember what it was while I'm at work.
> 
> [Edit: I remembered one thing! I have this lingering worry that I might have identified Thigh-of-Dicks by name before, but I wasn't able to find it when I skimmed back through. If there's a discrepancy there, I'll fix it when I come through editing this monster.]


	54. popped a circuit in the best possible way

Richard was leaving when they went back in, Derek could hear Cara going over the aftercare instructions with him, and Tony was in the bathroom with Mitchel. (They really needed to just break down and find the wall space for a mirror.)

But--Mitchel. Derek glanced over at Stiles, weighing his options and trying not to grin when Stiles slanted a sidelong look his way.

"What?"

It was tempting, but. Derek rested a hand on Stiles' shoulder and gave him a nudge into the weird narrow nook they used to hang up their coats and store their personal stuff in. "Tony's got a guest. Mitchel. Long time client who's friendly enough that they hug and spend some time catching up on life stuff."

And who smelled like he was in the wrong place. Like he lived a lot further away than just a county or two over.

Stiles waited for a moment, eyebrows rising, before holding his hands out impatiently and "Okay. And?"

"And I wanted you to be warned, so you wouldn't drool too obviously," Derek drawled, smirking when Stiles just narrowed his eyes, scent going peppery. "But, also, it's just-- There's a _lot_ of ink, and it looks like it's just art, but that doesn't mean there isn't meaning hidden in it."

There was meaning hidden in a surprising number of tattoos and with what Stiles had been saying...

Stiles was quiet for a moment, then heaving a sigh that sounded too big for either of them. "I'm sensing a future homework assignment. At this rate, magic-school is going to take up as much of my time as normal-school."

Derek wasn't sure what to say to that. Let the bond speak for him, and got elbowed as Stiles made his way out. (He couldn't help it. It _was_ a little amusing, watching Stiles complain. There'd been sympathy there too, he was sure.)

He followed Stiles out, watching as Stiles followed the sound of Tony's voice and craned his head forward to see what was going on in the bathroom. The way his shoulders relaxed and his mouth dropped open a little. It was--startlingly similar to the way he'd reacted when Derek had come out of the bathroom in a dress shirt, actually. (The scent was similar too, but--just spice and musk, no apple. It was fascination and desire in the bond, yeah, but it wasn't a threat. Wasn't anywhere near the intensity Derek inspired in him.)

" _Oh my god_ , that's _awesome_ ," Stiles breathed, and two laughs answered from the bathroom.

It was going to be fine.

"Family, friend, mascot?" Michel drawled, pure amusement, as Derek finally caught up with Stiles and--

Derek let his brain happily skid to a halt, eyes flicking over the design Mitchel had turned to display for Stiles. 

It kind of looked like someone had decided to run with the concept 'technicolor Escher on acid'. And pulled it off.

There was a dove silhouette cut out of the watercolor splatter background, over the lower ribs on his left side. It smeared the watercolor background along the implied flight path, leaving trails of green tracing all the way up to the base of Mitchel's neck. And feathers, scattered behind it, that became leaves that became stars, that became the honeycomb over his left shoulder and--actually turned _into clouds_ and became the background color for the right arm. That was brilliant. 

And somehow the soft-lined impression of a train engine seemed to work, taking up most of the bottom right of Mitchel's back. Derek had no idea _how_ it worked, but it was there. And working.

"Why have I not seen photos of this?" Stiles complained, taking a step forward and stopping just as abruptly. His focus was tightening, eyes flicking from detail to detail. "I totally should have seen this."

"Friend," Tony remarked dryly to Mitchel. "Mascot, for a while. Possibly future tattoo artist, now?" he added, sounding hesitant and looking past Mitchel to Stiles. Grinning when Stiles nodded reflexively, eyes still picking apart Mitchel's work. "And dating the lunk behind you," Tony added, jerking his chin in Derek's direction.

Derek pulled his focus away from Mitchel's back long enough to glare at Tony, who just shrugged, unrepentant.

"You're the worst, Tony," Cara piped up from Derek's shoulder, making him flinch which made _Cara_ flinch and sidestep, then swat his arm idly. "But seriously, they're totally adorable."

Mitchel finally turned around, leaving him only as distracting as his arms, and cast a quick assessing glance over the three of them.

The look he gave Derek was only a _little_ judgmental. Derek could live with that.

"Forgive the boys, though," Cara continued, sidling over to Derek's other side and looping her arms through Derek's and Stiles'. "They're both kind of ridiculous."

Then she was tugging them back toward the front, despite Stiles' muttered complaints.

Derek didn't complain. _He_ could shamelessly eavesdrop from anywhere in the store, so long as they kept the door open.

Cara settled Derek and Stiles down at the consultation counter, fond amusement practically radiating through the more subtle bond he had with her as she played at trying to ruffle Stiles' hair (the grumpy avoidance would never not be funny). "Should I get you boys some crayons and paper?" she asked, and nearly burst a seam laughing when Stiles froze, bag open in his lap and fingers already closed around the edge of a sketchbook.

(In the background, Tony was talking about the impression of space and implying distance with shading, for a three dimensional geometric shape made out of lines, and Mitchel was _keeping up_. Derek was torn between wanting to be Tony when he grew up, and hoping he'd have a client that awesome someday.)

A sketchbook was shoved under his nose, one of Stiles' by the smell of it, and Derek glanced up curiously, not sure why they weren't sharing. Stiles smiled back, shrugging awkwardly. "Homework. Deaton wants a bunch of sketches for tomorrow," he muttered, focusing his attention down again. "And, uh-- Actually, I have to do draw something for art this weekend too. Crap. I forgot about that." 

Derek ducked his head to hide a snort of laughter (unsuccessfully, according to the menacing twist of Stiles' fingers over an eraser, suggesting he was thinking of throwing it at Derek's head) and picked up the pencil. 

He drew trees. Maples, oaks, aspen, walnut. Some sort of mutant amalgam of pine and fir, probably, because he still couldn't remember the difference. 

It wasn't the worst way to spend an afternoon.

Eventually, his last appointment showed up, not-morose bats smiling shyly and rapping politely at the door. She let Stiles come back with them, and grabbed for his hand the first time Derek crossed her spine. The appointment was just for the line work, because she hadn't thought she'd be able to stand more, but he had the time and _she_ had the giggles, riding high on the endorphin rush.

"Want me to do the bats while you're here?" Derek asked, setting his machine aside and considering what he'd need to get out. "They wouldn't take long to fill in, and it'll look--"

"Super better," she agreed cheerfully, not bothering to un-mash her face from the table. "Yeah, go for it."

Derek went to get the inks and shading needles he'd need (and new gloves). Listened to Stiles explain the pause, offer bats some water, joke that his hand needed to come _with him_ if he was getting water.

Not a bad way to spend an afternoon at all.

\-----

Stiles went home when Derek got off shift. Alone.

"I'll be able to hang around after work tomorrow," Stiles offered, sounding about as thrilled at the current situation as Eeyore was about anything. "I'm almost done with Deaton's stuff, and the school thing won't take long. Dad's been all about eating together and talking about what's going on and--" He sighed, resigned but fond and--pleased, oddly. "I can't really blame him. So, y'know."

"I'll see you tomorrow then, I guess," Derek agreed, pressing a kiss against Stiles' cheek and grinning at the flutter he felt echo across the bond, right before Stiles punched him lightly with a tiny spike of amused irritation.

"Jerk."

"Mhmm," Derek agreed, pulling back. He should back off more. Let Stiles head down the alley to wherever he'd parked. Get home. But. "What did you get, from Mitchel's tattoos?"

Stiles eyed him sharply, curious and interested. "Not--anything specific. Like. A few things that might be personal, but they were still really vague personal, if that makes sense? Like, I could tell there were a few symbols in there that meant something, that hurt or was happy or--kind of regretful? But not why, or how." There was more, hovering on the edge of Stiles' teeth, so Derek just nodded, encouraging. Pleased when Stiles took a breath to talk, his eyes going a little distant. "Mostly, the whole thing felt like--armor? Sort of? Like he needs to distract people from what they're really looking at." His focus came back with a frowning crease between his eyes. "No way of knowing if he's distracting them from the hidden meanings, though, or himself. It's really interesting, but also kind of aggravating. Knowing but not knowing."

Probably safer, though. Or--kinder. Knowing as much as he did was probably already an invasion of privacy, but Stiles wasn't used to thinking that way, yet. (Also, Derek was familiar with the frustration of knowing but not knowing. People and their scents. _Everywhere_.)

It got him thinking, though, and Derek's hands suddenly itched for his portfolio. Wondered what Stiles could read there. If it was different in his book than it was on the people.

Stiles groaned when he asked, slumping abruptly and letting his face smash against Derek's head. "Damnit. Why do I keep finding new things I need to learn? Not fair."

"You'll just have to ask Alan about it," Derek said, smirking when Stiles sighed. "Good thing you're seeing him again tomorrow."

Stiles nodded, short and abrupt and--scent twisting sour, bond going thoughtful and hesitant. "About that," Stiles started, stopping abruptly before barrelling on, smelling peppery and determined. "We're working on something else, for the bond. But it's-- It's nothing we're actually going to _do_ , and I should know enough to be able to talk with you about it tomorrow. But. We're doing that. On a theoretical level. And I said I'd tell you about stuff like that. So."

His mate, his life, his everything. Derek sighed, not entirely surprised that he was too tired about the whole thing to even feel the urge to growl. "Thanks, for that much. I guess I'll learn more tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Stiles muttered, stinking of guilt. "Sorry. I keep doing this, don't I."

"I'm hoping you'll grow out of it."

He got punched again. He didn't really mind.

\-----

The run home was good. The steady flow through familiar streets, nodding to other runners and having to pay attention to his pace to keep it human-acceptable, it was like an eraser for his brain. Wiping away dust and detritus and leaving it easier to see what he was thinking.

He was mad about the cards, sharp edged triangles in an impression of three dimensions. But double those, make them diamonds, and-- He was glad Stiles felt bad, about it, and that was horrible but-- Stiles had talked to him about more than he'd wanted to. Hadn't kept trying to keep that one a secret. 

The other thing, the thing he didn't know yet, was a series of obnoxious bubbles around the edge of the frame, shaded in with chalk dust and too hazy to see clearly (because he _didn't know what it was_ ), but he knew it was there, now. And that made the triangle-diamonds--better, somehow. Easier to roll through his mind, less likely to snag and tear.

He wasn't mad anymore, really. Frustrated, maybe? But sort of weirdly hopeful, too.

It probably wouldn't have made sense to other people, but that was fine. It made sense to him and it was _his_ head. That's all it had to do.

\-----

He should have known the day had only given him a reprieve.

Derek came home to tense and worried pack bonds, no kittens in the doorway, Gwen crying somewhere upstairs, and Matt--

Matt was alone in the downstairs bathroom, and he smelled like blood. Not crying, barely, but washing out an arm full of scratches by himself. (Derek's pulse skipped with panic before he got close enough to get a good look at his arm. Kittens, not Gwen. Thank fuck, not Gwen.)

"Hey, here. Let me help," Derek murmured, stepping in close and sliding the first aid kit out of Matt's lap. Took the cleansing swab before remembering _human_ and _infection_ and _Wash Your Hands_ (which was all in Tania's voice, echoing in his head).

He washed his hands and got a new wipe out of the kit and took Matt's arm gently, turning it to the light and to hide the back of his hand from view. To hide the black traces of a stinging pain that faded before it even got to his arm. "What happened?"

"I was holding Pitch," Matt grumbled, no longer on the edge of crying and sounding grumpy about it. (He didn't like it when they took his pain, which Derek didn't understand. Generally didn't ask them to stop, though.) "We were working on homework, and Gwen--"

And Gwen.

He let his attention spread out, now that Matt wasn't a pulse of _alone_ and _upset_ within reach. 

There weren't enough adults in the house. Grandmother Hale wasn't there, only his and Matt's moms (both upstairs near Gwen. Standing between Gwen and the door and the window, so--crying but not necessarily safe yet), and his dad (with Jacob and Stacia downstairs, a feeling like relief and gratitude more than any sound).

Matt still shouldn't have been left alone. _Was_ there a first aid kit downstairs? Derek couldn't remember.

(Grandmother Hale was almost always home, but--she had friends, and a life, and it was always weird remembering that sometimes she _wasn't_ going to be there. Paul should have been there, late enough in the year that he didn't usually have to work through the weekends. Niq was never home for Saturday, and it was Peter's turn to handle the weekend rush, he thought, but-- _Someone_ else should have been there.)

The scratches weren't bad. Long, but not too deep. Most of them had barely drawn blood, just raked up the surface in thin, angry lines. Derek cleaned all of them anyway, then kept going, rubbing the cleansing wipe over the backs of Matt's arms and up over his elbows to make him laugh and push Derek away.

They bandaged the bleeding bits, then went back to the main room so Matt could finish his homework. Even though Derek had offered video games.

Matt was so weird.

(Pitch slunk in after ten minutes, smelling of blood and what Derek assumed was the cat equivalent of a massive freak-out, and curled up under the couch, behind Matt's feet. Derek supposed that might have been cat for an apology, but really. It was a cat.)

\-----

Gwen stayed upstairs that night, talking quietly with Maria and feeling frustrated and sad and alone and it _sucked_ , but Derek stayed in the main room with Matt. And then with Stacia and Jacob, when they came up again (though Derek's dad gave them coloring books instead of their homework, again, before disappearing upstairs with another book and box of crayons for Gwen).

More adults drifted in. Were updated with soft whispers and tired looks. (Paul smelled of moss and, faintly, of blood and worry, even before stepping inside. Derek didn't know what happened, just that his Dad led Paul back to the study to explain. That Paul felt like frustration and guilt for a while after, but faintly. Not enough to be a problem.)

Then Laura.

He was working on a twisting impression of a butterfly (not a commission, but definitely something he could put on a leg, or on the wall at Tinge) when she sailed into the room, smelling bright and happy and smug and wow it did not fit the general tone of the house.

"I found a Halloween costume for you!" was his only warning before something was flying at his head.

He caught it easily, hands wrapping around--fabric. Dark blue, with a large white leaf pattern. And--not a lot of it. Barely enough for a shirt, but the elastic under his hands suggested something else.

"What the hell, Laura?" he sighed, finding an edge of the fabric and letting the rest of it drop. And--yeah. That was shorts. Probably knee length, but she'd just given him a pair of shorts. "One, I don't need a costume, I'm just helping walk the kids."

Matt smothered a snicker, oblivious to his mom growling "They aren't puppies!" upstairs. (Laura didn't miss it, if her patient sigh was anything to go by. She still thought Tania would get over the dog jokes thing someday.)

"Two," Derek continued, "I already have a costume."

Not that Laura appreciated his greaser getup. She didn't think it was enough of a costume to count. ( _He_ thought he wasn't getting candy anymore, so she could stuff it.)

Laura was shaking her head already, though, and--holding out another piece of clothing. A shirt. A white shirt, with red sleeves and a heart in the middle of the chest, and looked at least a size too small for her. "This is so much better!"

And. _Oh_. (Oh, shit.) He could see Stacia's beaming grin from the corner of his vision already, and of _course_ she'd figured it out. Damnit.

Lilo and Stitch. With Nani and David.

"...they're the wrong colors," he tried, holding the shorts up. "It's supposed to be blue and yellow, not blue and white."

Laura chuffed, like he was being intentionally dense. "It's _Halloween_ , Derek. Not cosplay."

Technically, it was kind of both.

He was going to end up walking around downtown, at the end of October, wearing just a pair of boardshorts and probably flip flops. He could already tell.

So could Laura, because she threw her arms up in victory.

"Don't you think it's weird you're suggesting I be your boyfriend for Halloween?" he tried anyway. Because really. Ew.

Laura's smirk promised horrible, horrible things. "Just think about what _your_ boyfriend's going to think, when we meet him downtown."

And that-- That--

He could tell Laura was laughing, but he really did not give a damn. His brain felt like it had popped a circuit in the best possible way.

Damnit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No extensive notes today, busy busy busy. But I will say that I'm really sad that I'm still working up to Halloween, the week of Christmas. *sigh* In case you missed it back then, though, I did put up a chapter in Kitchen Sink that was Laura's perspective on this year's (story wise) Halloween. I'm not linking it yet, but I will once we've gotten through Halloween. In the meantime, if you want to find it and don't mind minor spoilers, it's just the last chapter of Kitchen Sink at the moment.


	55. for certain values of quiet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a line of dialogue that's probably indecipherable in this. There's a translation at the end.

Derek honestly didn't know how they ended up with these situations. The house had _six bathrooms_.

Laura bumped against his shoulder for the _third time_ , growling around her toothbrush and pressing for a better angle on the mirror ( _Why_ , Derek didn't know. They was just brushing their teeth. Seeing yourself didn't make you any better at it.) when Matt slipped in behind them, elbowing Derek's hip and eeling past Laura to grab the toothpaste and what the hell. Matt usually shared with the terrors, who all went to sleep before he did, and Olivia, who already on patrol. There was no one to crowd _him_ out.

Granted, there weren't many forces available that could make _Derek_ share a bathroom with three six year olds and a sixty-six year old, but.

Laura bumped up against Derek again and Matt made a rude noise before shoving his way between them. He leaned into Derek's hip until Derek shuffled to the side, then changed direction to press into Laura's space. She didn't move as easily. Ended up growling halfheartedly at getting an elbow to the hip, but it worked to get her to back off a little. Made her actually look down away from the mirror to see what was going on.

Just in time for Matt to settle placidly at the prime real estate right in front of the sink, with elbow room and everything. (It was worth it, for the way Laura's face twitched before she shrugged and relaxed, finishing up her teeth while leaning against the wall and staring at nothing.)

But Matt wasn't brushing his teeth, just glaring at them both in the mirror, clutching his toothbrush in one hand and the toothpaste in the other. "Next year, we should do a group thing about something Jake and I want to do."

Laura nearly choked on her toothbrush. So did Derek.

_Shit_ , they were assholes.

Matt nodded and stalked out of the room.

"...fu-uar ol aur oof-as," Laura muttered, after a few moments. _Then_ took the toothbrush out of her mouth to spit, because she was a creature of logic, as always.

(Derek assumed he was the only person in the house who understood her, since there were no growled protests about the swearing.)

\-----

It was...weird, falling asleep. 

He hadn't noticed the bond stretching when he and Stiles went their separate ways. Hadn't processed the fade into an impression of _mate_ and a direction to run. (To run, to find him. To help him, if necessary, or just to hold him. Grab him close and breathe.)

There'd been Matt, and then Laura, then Matt _again_ (they were _such_ assholes, how had they _not noticed_ they were excluding half the kids?), and it wasn't surprising he'd been a little distracted. 

Lying in his bed, alone in the dark and staring up at the bumps on his ceiling, it was a lot harder to miss.

He didn't sleep well. It was nothing new.

\-----

Breakfast started out quiet. For certain values of quiet.

Laura disappeared halfway through and came back wearing her Nani shirt, to show Paul where the sleeves needed to end (and assure him that no, no, it was _meant_ to ride up that high, it was fine). Gwen went into squealing raptures at the idea, since she'd been on her own the night before. Matt glowered and stabbed at his oatmeal until Derek bumped an elbow against his shoulder and asked, "So, next year. Avengers, Justice League, X-men..?"

Matt lit up, all surprised excitement over the bond, even as he turned wide, happy eyes to Derek (and splattered a long-patient Tania and gleeful Greg with a few stray oatmeal missiles when he threw his arms up. oops). "Avengers! I wanna be Iron Man!"

They _could_ worry that all of Matt's favorite superheroes were the tragically orphaned, socially maladjusted billionaire loners, but-- Well. That tended to be the background for people in Matt's situation, in the media. They worked with what they had.

"HULK SMASH!" Jacob cheered, bringing his hands down and putting a crack in the table, throwing dishes and food everywhere.

Niq, still heavy eyed and nursing her coffee, had the presence of mind to pull out her phone and take a picture. (It was ruined by the glare from their eyes, but still hysterical.) 

Breakfast had _started out_ quiet.

\-----

Laura and Niq cleared out first, with Laura carefully not-swearing as she bolted upstairs to change out of her costume (now in need of sleeve shortening _and_ a wash) and Paul running after his mate's not-entirely-coherent shuffle to bring her her purse.

Paul was staying home again (unless there was an emergency, again), and Tania had the day off (scheduled, but the hospital could always try to call her in). Peter was already at Grille, meeting with his other chef to argue about menus and schedules and whether they were or were not doing holiday brunches again, but he'd be back in a few hours, not really needed for Sundays usually. (Usually. That wasn't always--)

His mother hip-checked him on his second round of the house, catching him before he could go and find Paul again. Make sure he was still there.

"We'll be fine, son of mine. Lesson learned." She pushed him toward his bag. Toward the door. "Go. You have work."

Tania, Matt and Gwen were almost on his way to the door. Ish. So it wasn't too weird for him to detour over and rub his face in Gwen's hair, or wrap Matt and Tania up in a hug before he left.

It wasn't.

\-----

Sunday was, weirdly, one of their busiest days at Tinge. He had tribal ankle piece in the shape of a shark in the morning, a pair of wedding rings an hour later, and four consultations around his morning appointments. (Granted, one of the consults had just been Lenore, wanting to talk about color and shading options for her acid-kitsch roses, and another had been a mis-communication of someone thinking they needed to approve a design in person instead of just making their actual-inking appointment when they dropped by to see the design.)

That was just _his_ day, though. Vic was in early because she had five consults and six appointments crammed into hers.

Whenever he had a free moment, Derek worked on his costume. That year's costume, anyway. Vic mocked him for using company supplies to make a temporary tattoo just for walking Matt and the terrors around downtown, but she spent half an hour between consults helping him get the proportions right, so she could hush.

\-----

Derek had finally gotten the stencil finished (appropriately sized and just long enough to go around his arm), tucked into a folder for protection and shoved in his bag when the bond spread again. _Mate_ turning to _Stiles_ turning to _tired_ and _cranky_ and a soft, fond anticipation that felt like it was made for him to curl up in and call home.

And he had another appointment coming up quick enough that he'd already prepped his bench for it. Nothing complex, but there was some shading and--

Derek grabbed their shared sketchbook out of his bag, hauled it up to the consultation counter and flipped to the next blank page. Drew a spikysaur holding the string to a heart balloon in its mouth. It was sappy as hell, but whatever. (He even took the time to color it, but-- His markers were _right there_ , and it was a quick swipe and fill with four colors. It wasn't like it was hard.)

It was worth it. Candle showed up before Stiles did, almost before Derek was ready to put the markers down and wash up. So Derek was in the back when Stiles walked in, trying to find a way to position Candle without distorting the skin, or putting Candle's knee in pain, or making it impossible for him to actually _work_. Stiles' scent barely reached him past the spongey-sour smell of his client, but the way his mild cranky turned bitter and sad had Derek's head coming up. Chin jerking toward the book he'd left on the counter.

He finally found a position that worked, right as Stiles laughed, bond lighting up with embarrassed affection.

So yeah. Worth it.

\-----

Candle, at least, was an old pro with the entire procedure (he had a half sleeve of a koi that Cara had done for him, and a tiny bundle of violets and lily of the valley over a queen of hearts on his chest that Derek had done a year and a half ago, and a few pieces from other artists, mostly ones Derek didn't know), and happily explained the aftercare procedure to Derek while Derek rang him up. Both the version Tinge suggested, and the one Candle used himself, which was still fine and if it worked better for him...

Stiles was a drowsy, content little knot of amusement curled up on a window seat throughout the whole process.

He smiled at Derek when Candle left, closing their sketchbook and hugging it against his chest. "Regular?"

"Irregular," Derek corrected, smiling as he finished up getting the receipts put away and the work logged. "He's seen me and Cara so far, here, and he has at least four from--"

"Regular enough," Stiles muttered, rolling his eyes before whining "Are you coming here or are you gonna make me get up?"

Tempting as it was to lean over the counter and just stare back-- Well. Stiles still felt tired. Leaden and solid, more purple than his usual obnoxious mix of green and peachy-orange.

He was halfway around the counter when the colors became a visual. 

_Lovebirds._. Green and orange and leaning against each other with eyes that kept twitching open and drifting shut again. Biting each other's feathers. Trying to pick locks with their feet. (And that was it, seriously, he didn't know _how_ he was going to do it, but he was getting his mother weaned off of Cute Overload. Cara was a horrible, horrible influence.)

It was momentary. It had to have been. Barely a hitch in his step from the outside, probably, while he blinked and tried to get his brain around the sheer absurdity, but still. Stiles was grinning at him like he knew a secret. "What was that?"

"Nothing," Derek said, shaking his head and finishing his trip over to Stiles and the window seat. Stiles budged over so there was room for him. Barely.

"You know I'll get it out of you eventually," Stiles tried, twisting and pressing into Derek's side to make him slump against the wall as soon as he was settled. (He huffed annoyance, but that didn't stop him from bringing an arm up to curl around Stiles, keeping him close.) "What was it? It didn't--" he paused, frowning as he shot a glance over the counters, toward the back. Checking for ears. (Derek made a mental note to ask Vic to show him more subtle ways of doing that. And...crap, he still needed to talk to Peter about knives and--) 

"It didn't feel bad?" Stiles said, making a face and completely derailing Derek's thoughts. "I mean, a little embarrassing maybe, but..."

"Lovebirds," Derek sighed, because Stiles was probably right. And it wasn't bad. Wasn't even that embarrassing. "You feel--"

\--purple. Derek blinked, not sure how to explain that. But Stiles just turned a bit more, looking up at him open and curious and-- And used to talking with art.

"You feel tired. It makes my impression of you more--purple toned than usual." Fuck that was awkward to try and put into words. "You're usually greens and oranges, either vibrant or soft, and today you're soft and a little desaturated, so when I was thinking about your colors, I realized they're--"

"Lovebirds?" Stiles asked, bemused and--embarrassed? What? "I'm lovebird colors in your head. Oh my god."

Derek huffed as Stiles twisted abruptly, flipping and flopping until he could mash his face against Derek's side, grumbling.

"You asked."

"Oh my god shut up."

\-----

Derek's last appointment for the day was easy enough, a skull in black shapes and lines, but--

Vic spared a glance up at him when he came back to check in. Waved him toward his bench. "Stiles? You mind watching the front for a few?"

"Sure," Stiles practically chirped, scooting off the window seat and practically bouncing his way over to the register. (Which he hadn't figured out how to open. Yet.)

Vic's client raised a hand to signal for a pause, took the moment to adjust her legs before giving Vic the okay again, then--turned her head to talk, which kind of ruined the go-ahead for continuing to work. "That kid works here?"

"That kid is older than he looks," Vic said, wiggling her machine disapprovingly. "And he knows how to answer basic questions and make appointments."

And Derek would be able to hear if he was getting in over his head.

Derek finished getting his stuff together and gestured his client back. Flushed and tried to ignore Vic's muttered "and maybe they'll stop with the sickeningly cute lovebird cartoons" as she turned her tattoo machine back on.

"...lovebirds?" her customer asked, muffled by her arm and breathing into the returned pain, but sounding enthralled all the same.

"I'll book you in with Derek later, if you want," Vic promised dourly, not lifting her eyes from her work.

Derek's customer shot him a look that was somehow both sympathetic and gleeful as he stripped his shirt off.

Derek's life.

\-----

Cara was done with her appointments (doctors, not tattoos, much to her own dismay) earlier than expected. Which meant Vic was able to chase Derek and Stiles out half an hour early, convinced she was never going to get the visual of them as lovebirds out of her head _ever again_.

Stiles snagged Derek's hand once they were packed up and strode out of the parlor with his head high. And if he was also blushing hard enough it looked like his ears were burning, well. He didn't seem to be letting that get to him.

Derek let Stiles lead the way to his Jeep. Grinned at the way he almost jumped when Derek brushed his thumb against the edge of Stiles' hand, just before they separated to get into the car. (Grinned harder at the glare the whole exchange earned him.)

Doors were closed, seatbelts fastened, keys went into the ignition and--Stiles moved his hands back to the steering wheel, tapping out a short not-rhythm and exhaling, short and pointed. "So. Magic and bond stuff. We need to talk about that."

"Okay." Derek watched Stiles' profile, the way his face stayed fixed forward even though they weren't moving.

"Okay. So. Do you wanna just drive around for that?" he asked, twisting abruptly to eye Derek, open and curious. "We could head out to the Preserve, too, or back to my place. Dad's not home."

"...if we go to your place, I don't think we're going to talk," Derek noted.

It was only the truth, but the faint apple-spice-musk Stiles usually smelled of whenever they were in proximity intensified into something sharp and present and--

"I hate you," Stiles sighed, closing his eyes against the surge of arousal that sang along the bond. "'Cause that sounds like a vote for my place to me, but I think I'm gonna suggest the Preserve anyway."

Derek hummed an agreement and Stiles finally turned the Jeep on. "No reason we can't talk on our way there too," he pointed out, and Stiles laughed.

"Yeah, might get my brain off this for a bit." He was silent, though, as he backed up and got into traffic. As he took the first few turns, eyes darting over intersections and sidewalks.

They finally edged out onto one of the bigger roads, bordered by stores with actual parking lots and enough space to discourage pedestrians, and Stiles started talking.

"Okay, so. I kind of don't like it when this thing between us is one sided, right?" he frowned, clenching his fingers around the steering wheel for a second before he consciously took a breath, relaxed. ('Relaxed' was the wrong word, with the way he felt in Derek's head, but his hands loosened, his shoulders dropped, his heart rate slowed just enough to be noticed.) "So with the muffling thing, the whole-- _feelings thing_ \--" he shoulder-checked, glanced in his mirrors, made another turn "not as much of an issue anymore. Although _wow_ does it suck not to be able to feel you all the time." He threw a wry glance Derek's way, mouth quirking up and scent turning to apple and pepper, then looked forward again. "I got used to being able to check on you anytime kind of alarmingly fast," he admitted. Sighed, blinked sharply a couple of times, and--

\--and Derek wasn't the only one who'd had trouble sleeping last night. Probably for the same reason.

Stiles shot him an odd look and Derek shrugged. (So 'fond' probably wasn't what he should be feeling right then. Whatever.)

"Aaaanyway. So, yeah. The feelings thing is fine, but I still have this one sided problem. Because I'd survive it if we went ahead with breaking the bond, which everyone is so determined to give me the option for, and I'm not sure you would."

And that. That knot at the back of his throat. That mass of scribbled lines, and the thick dark bar of sharp and jagged edges that always came in from the left. That--

"Bad idea," Stiles grit out, pulling the Jeep over abruptly enough that it jarred Derek's shoulder against the door. "Driving. Bad idea. Derek--"

Stiles was unbuckling his seat belt. Turning and lifting like he was ready to come over the gearshift if he had to.

Derek shook his head. Lifted a hand and planted it against Stiles' chest. "I'd-- Mother wouldn't let me die. It wouldn't-- Jesus, Stiles, it wouldn't _kill_ me."

He wasn't sure how much he believed that, but he tried. (He could believe in his mother, at least. Remembered her protective fury after Thomas. How she'd channelled so much of it into keeping Laura going, through the worst of it.)

Stiles' lips thinned and he nodded like Derek had just confirmed something for him. Shit. "Yeah. Everybody's been pretty careful not to talk too much about what it'd do to you. Which I get, because that is also, like, _so fucking unhealthy_. For everybody. But _not telling me_ is also pretty stupid and bad," he grit out, angry and exasperated and--pointing at his head. "Because what goes on in here? _So much worse_ , I swear." Stiles paused again, blinking and taking a careful breath, making himself relax. "And-- Like I said, it's a problem. So Deaton and I have been working on figuring out how to make it suck less."

"That. What?"

(The white was still there, but the bar was breaking apart. Breaking down. Fading into greens tipped in orange and purple. Sharp edges flaking off.)

Stiles brought his hand up, hooking his fingers around Derek's, where they were still splayed across his chest. "Deaton thinks I could draw something, that would-- Not really fix it, but--help. If--"

"Do you want to break the bond?"

Derek didn't know where the words came from. Wasn't thinking straight enough to put them together. But there they were, sounding so much saner than he felt, and making Stiles look more than a little deranged.

"Do-- _No_ , dumbass, I don't want to break the--" Stiles broke off with a growl (decent, for a human), slumping back into his seat finally, head swiveling to check for traffic (and oh god no, they should not start moving again. Bad plan). 

Stiles didn't make any movement toward the gearshift, though. "I don't want to break the bond. I _like_ the bond. I like _you_. But if I get to have the option to leave then you do too. So pick. Either we make the bond permanent or we figure out how it doesn't ruin _either_ of our lives if we have to break it."

"Options," Derek managed to get out, past the white. Past the nerves that made the world feel like it was shaking.

It didn't make sense, but it was an answer. An answer Stiles seemed to understand, because he slumped in his seat, nodding and checking traffic again. "Okay. So--yeah. That. If I can walk away, I'm going to make something to make that as painless as possible. Deaton said he can keep it, or we could give it to your mom or--" He grimaced again, glancing over with what felt like an apology. "Deaton wasn't sure you'd be willing to use it? So we need someone we can trust not to mess with it. But if things go right, it won't do anything. It's not-- It's not something to damage or break the bond, just--kind of scab over the raw edges it'll leave you with, if we break the bond."

"Okay," Derek nodded. "Talk later." When Stiles knew more. When Derek could make himself go back and see Alan again. Later. Right then-- "Your place."

Stiles nodded and finally went for the gear shift again, eyeing (the lack of) traffic with purpose and easing them back out onto the road. 

\-----

He heard the door open. He wasn't asleep. But John didn't know that and it was-- It was _easier_ , just to listen. Listen as John sighed, and--

"Really?"

"Shhh," Stiles muttered, not turning to un-mash his face from Derek's chest. "Bad day. Snuggling."

There was a pause, then "Homework?" and a smug "Already done."

John sighed again and there was a rasp of skin against skin as he walked away from the couch, muttering "At least they're dressed" under his breath.

Stiles moved one of his arms down, flopped it around until he found Derek's hand and tangled their fingers together, squeezing just enough to be felt.

Derek let himself smile, content to have his mate sprawled out over him like the most awkward and bony blanket in existence, covering him in the scent of apples and a nebula of orange and green bright enough that it'd hurt to look at, if it were real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"...fu-uar ol aur oof-as," Laura muttered, after a few moments._  
>  Translation? Fucker stole our toothpaste. (Inappropriate? Yeah. Happened anyway.)
> 
> **Tattoo Artist of the Week:** [Arlin Ffrench](http://tattrx.tumblr.com/tagged/ARLIN-FFRENCH), Vancouver BC. 
> 
> Happy New Year, everybody.


	56. in their language

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the posting delay! My internet was down when I woke up, and I kinda slept in. Not so much of a chance to swing by my coffee shop and make time with their wifi.
> 
> I do now have the tumblr ap for my phone, though, so posting updates [on my tumblr](http://billtheradish.tumblr.com/) should be a definite go if this keeps happening (unless something happens to my phone, too).

It was weirdly easier to take in when Stiles was explaining to someone _else_.

"No, it's not... They haven't been using that _against_ me Dad. _That's the problem_. His dad barely hinted at it, and he was trying to _warn me off_."

Derek ducked out of the way of Stiles' hand (and sandwich, because why put your food down before gesturing?) and tried to ignore the way John's eyebrows twitched at them.

It was weird. Anyone else Derek knew and this would have been a fight. Would have _long since_ been a fight, with the way the Stilinskis were leaning in over the table, eyes intent and focused on each other. Stiles didn't smell or feel angry, though. Determined, stubborn, adamant, yes. But not upset. Not angry.

(Derek didn't know John's scents as well, yet. Didn't share a pack bond yet. But his scents were _like_ Stiles', and the faces they both made were more alike than not. By that reckoning, he was frustrated, tired, and--weirdly amused. Derek was probably reading that wrong.)

" _If_ any of what you're assuming is true--" John started.

"Which Derek can't deny without feeling all wiggly," Stiles cut in, then went abruptly silent at a look from John that was more 'Sheriff' than 'Dad'.

"-- _if_ it's true, then it would be emotionally manipulative to share it. Especially with an emotionally volatile teenag--"

" _Dad_."

"--ger and--"

"What about the truth, huh? How can I make informed decisions if--"

"You shouldn't _need_ to make those kinds of decisions, Stiles."

"But I do! And if they'd just been up front about it, I could've talked with _them_ about figuring out options, but--" 

"We don't know," Derek admitted before he could think better of it. Stiles and John went abruptly still, their attention refocusing. On him. He shrugged and tried not to feel pinned in place. "We don't. We're just guessing too, and we don't have much to go off."

His dad had mentioned a pack in Nebraska, but Derek still didn't know what that was about. They had Laura's example, but that wasn't--

"I think Deaton knows more than he's saying," Stiles offered with a scowl. "But that's not really a surprise."

Derek snorted agreement and John rolled his eyes. He was smiling a little, though. "Okay. So undefined 'bad things' will happen," John said, rolling right over his son's embarrassed groan when he broke out the finger quotes, "if you two break the bond. Derek is determined that you two keep the ability to do that, which I am immeasurably in favor of. Stiles is determined to lessen the damage it would cause as much as possible, because he doesn't understand the difference between having an option and taking it."

"Hey," Stiles objected. Around a bite of sandwich, because Stiles.

But. Wait. If Stiles thought--

John quirked an eyebrow at Stiles, quietly judgmental, until Stiles huffed and slumped down in his seat. "As I was saying. You're both preparing for a worst case scenario. It's not the only worst case possible, though. Just the one you two have the most control over."

The bond thrummed with--Derek couldn't put a label on it, but he and Stiles were _both_ feeling it, echoing it back and forth, a sort of deflating, embarrassed surprise.

"It's actually kind of impressive," John noted, sounding smug and smelling of nutmeg as he picked his sandwich back up. "You two keep scaring the pants off each other by trying to protect each other. If it wasn't mutual, it'd be really disturbing."

Well fuck.

(It wasn't like he didn't know what was happening. He just--hadn't really put the pattern together, yet. And it looked different, that way.)

\-----

Sandwiches didn't create much in the way of dishes, so John shooed Derek and Stiles back to the living room while he rinsed off whatever needed it and put the rest of the kitchen away.

They ended up on the couch again upright this time. Or, mostly. They slumped together, shoulders pressed tight and temples brushing, with their sketchbook braced over their knees. 

They finished up the page they'd started at Tinge, figuring out what lovebirds looked like in their language. (Derek's favorite was still the punked-up lovebird he'd drawn, in response to Stiles' complaints that lovebirds weren't badass enough for him. It was hysterical.)

The next page was...different, but still lovebirds. (Because _it was hysterical_ , and no matter how much he complained and rolled his eyes, Stiles kept sparking with glee at them.) There was an Angry Birds styled lovebird, then another hiding behind a spikysaur as it threw a stick of dynamite. Another punked-up lovebird with a tattooed spikysaur to match. A lovebird breaking into a safe that made Stiles frown and elbow him. (It was disturbingly easy to find the right video on Cute Overload, once Stiles produced a smartphone.)

Unfortunately, John was coming into the room as the video wrapped up. He leaned over the back of the couch and made them play it again. Didn't ask _why_ they were fixated on lovebirds, thankfully, but Derek didn't like the glint in his eye all the same. It reminded him of his mother. (More specifically, it reminded him of his mother the first time _she'd_ encountered Cute Overload, and that didn't imply anything good.)

Stiles didn't let his father have the phone, thankfully, so John just settled in his armchair and turned the TV on. It ended up on some program explaining how TV dinners were packaged briefly, and Stiles' attention shot up toward the screen. John glared and changed the channel before Stiles could get started. Derek ignored them both and drew little arabesques around a dapper, monocled lovebird.

Because why not.

The TV ended up on a documentary about tigers that looked interesting, so the sketchbook became less of a focus for a bit. They sketched in random swirls and shapes to fill in the negative space that seemed too empty and scribbled in borders around some of the better doodles. (The safe cracking lovebird somehow picked up a spikysaur accomplice while Derek wasn't looking.)

But then Stiles drew a jagged, uneven spiral off in a corner that made both of them frown and reach for the next page.

It was strange, holding back and letting someone else talk to _him_ in the impression of curves and lines, but--

Derek watched as the spiral took shape again, larger and more detailed. He let his hand drift in when it felt more urge than impulse, smoothing out lines and adding depth and strength to sections Stiles had already abandoned. 

At some point, John got up to go to the bathroom and Derek turned his head, nose brushing Stiles' cheek as he asked "Is it magic?'

Stiles smiled, the movement pressing his skin into Derek's nose. "Nope."

He smelled like apples-cedar-clay. That was new.

\-----

It was a little surprising that John didn't say anything about Derek leaving. A lot surprising that he didn't make any comments when it looked like he _wasn't_ leaving.

(He'd said it was okay, Derek reminded himself. Repeatedly. But that had been for nightmares. Had been because Derek would keep Stiles up _anyway_. He wouldn't now, and he thought John knew that. He'd nodded and waved Stiles on impatiently, earlier, when he'd mentioned the cards.)

It was Stiles who brought it up. Because of course it was.

"We should get to bed," Stiles said, voice calm even though his heart was skipping. "For sleeping. School night."

John sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "Yeah, well. Just--keep the door ajar, or something. For my sanity."

Derek wasn't sure how he'd lucked out this much. Not just with his mate, but his mate's _father_.

He didn't complain when Stiles shoved the sketchbook away and pulled Derek with him upstairs.

\-----

He remembered to text his parents to let them know he wouldn't be home. Had the opportunity to learn that trying to share a bathroom with Stiles was almost as aggravating as sharing with Laura and Danielle _at the same time_. (His mate was _made of elbows_. Seemed to have at least three of them. Per side.)

Derek finished before Stiles, half out of frustration, and went to sit on his bed. Realized he knew which side of the bed he'd be sleeping on, could still recognize the traces of his own scent on the sheets, but didn't recognize the room _at all_.

He--hadn't really been paying attention to anything but Stiles, when he'd been there before. That was starting to become a problematic pattern.

It was nothing like he'd have expected, if he'd tried to think up for himself how Stiles' room would look. He already knew the main colors were soft and desaturated, blues and neutrals for the most part, even over the walls. But.

It wasn't messy. Cluttered, yes, but sharply contained in storage areas and working areas (in which the floor was included, yes, but the papers spread over the floor in the corner _looked_ temporary, like they were only there for a reason). 

The skull thing apparently wasn't just a reaction to a strange and enticing element in Alan's office, though. There were three skull-shaped objects that Derek could see easily (No. Four. He'd missed the art print on the filing cabinet the first time around.) and the ones on the shelves had enough dust accumulated in nooks and crevices that they had to have been sitting for a long time. Didn't smell out of place, like they'd just come from a second hand shop.

Stiles--didn't have a cork board. Didn't have a pseudo-stalker-wall. But.

There were still sketches. Little drawings Derek had done on the backs of receipts customers had left behind. His note from the DVD exchange that _started_ the whole Lilo and Stitch thing was on the wall behind the computer. (It was horrible. Derek hadn't really been trying, had just dashed it off as an afterthought. He wanted to take it down, take it away, replace it with something better. Didn't.) Random bits and pieces he barely remembered (sometimes didn't, but could recognize) torn out of Stiles' sketchbooks.

It wasn't quite as dedicated as Derek's collection, but Derek had had more material to work with. They talked more in his books than Stiles'.

It was also a lot saner looking, spread out like that. Tucked into clumps and clusters of other things. (There was a hula girl propped up next to one of the skulls. It looked weirdly appropriate there. How did that even work?) 

Stiles finally came back, finished with whatever additional ritual his evenings required. Froze in the doorway. "Uh..."

"I hadn't actually _looked_ at your room before," Derek explained, letting his eyes flick over the desk. (Stress toys, wind-up toys, piles of tiny notebooks he hadn't seen before, an orange-spined book that smelled like Alan's office, candy wrappers...)

"Oh my god," Stiles groaned, stepping further in and--pushing Derek down on the bed. 

Derek blinked up at him. Smirked when Stiles flushed.

"I didn't mean it like that," Stiles muttered, rolling his eyes and walking around the bed. 

Completely ruined his point by pushing his pants down.

Made it again by grabbing a pair of sweats to pull on. Damn.

But right. The door was open. John was downstairs.

Stiles threw another pair of sweats at his head and Derek didn't bother to try and dodge. Didn't bother moving them, either.

"No sleeping in jeans," Stiles grumbled. "It's a rule."

He was lying, but Derek reached for his jeans anyway. Grinned into the shelter of Stiles' spare sweats as Stiles' breath caught, his pulse kicking up.

Nothing was going to come of the teasing, but it was okay. The desire in the bond was tangled with frustrated and flustered and fond, but it wasn't intense enough to be a problem. Any of it.

It was--kind of nice.

And it kept being nice, as Derek changed into the sweats. As he stripped his shirt off and threw it after his jeans, and rolled his eyes at Stiles' flailing non-protest. As Stiles huffed at him and pushed way over into Derek's space, making him push back. As Stiles receded, only to come back a moment later. As he covered Stiles' face with a pillow and shoved him back onto his own side of the bed (of his own bed, which was technically _all_ his side, but). 

As they finally settled, with Derek's face mashed against Stiles' shoulder, and their legs tangled and hooked together at the knees, and Stiles' fingers rubbing mindlessly through Derek's hair.

They sank out of awareness together, awash in earthy-apple and sleepy affection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tattoo Artist of the Week:** [Micah Riot](http://tattrx.tumblr.com/tagged/micah-riot) in San Francisco, CA. Also on [tumblr](http://micahriot.tumblr.com/), conveniently enough. I just really liked the selection Tattrx had as an intro sample.
> 
> In other tattoo related news, [this link](http://cheezburger.com/7981086720) is brought to us by [MistressTitania](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressTitania). And shared by me, because it's hysterical.
> 
> In case anyone was curious about the nefarious plots of lovebirds, I bring you two links. [Video one](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=COwu5sfjY6U) is of an escape artist, and [video two](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k7QOYxPy-D4) is of an escape artist with an amusing sidekick. 
> 
> Sorry for the slightly short chapter. Here's hoping I'll have better luck writing this week.


	57. his scent was starting to linger

Derek woke up slowly. Realized where he was before he'd realized what was happening. (To be fair, he had more experience with Stiles' scent, now, than he had with a slow wakening. Probably had more experience with Stiles' skin. And--yes. That--)

Exhaling slowly and carefully, Derek slipped his hand back out from under Stiles' shirt. Tried not to smile at the unconscious grumble Stiles made at the loss.

Their legs had kicked free during the night, and now it was Stiles' face mashed in Derek's shoulder, leaving Derek to wake up to a faceful of fuzz. (His hair used to be shorter. Derek wondered when, exactly, that had stopped.)

There had been a blanket. Probably still was, somewhere. Not on the bed, though.

Derek blinked a few times. Thought about staying. Thought about how nice it would be to just not move. Ever.

Realized he needed to pee.

It took a bit (it felt like hours, but that was his bladder's sense of time, not reality), but Derek managed to get free of Stiles' grip and out of the bed without waking him up. Grabbed his jeans and shirt from the floor on his way out.

He missed Stiles' clock, but his phone said it wasn't quite five a.m. when he pulled it out to check, after.

\-----

It felt a little strange, going downstairs, to the kitchen, when both Stilinskis were still asleep. Less like an intrusion than it would have before, though.

His scent was starting to linger. On the couch, in the kitchen, in the fabric of Stiles' bag and his shoes. It wasn't home, but he'd never been anything but welcome.

So he went poking around their kitchen. He knew where most of the noisy stuff was from watching Stiles, so it wasn't too hard to keep the noise down.

There wasn't much that was fresh, but there wasn't much that was just heat-and-serve either. Frozen vegetables, frozen meat, canned tomatoes, beans. Rice, pasta (angel hair, whole wheat), couscous (old, not air tight, should probably get thrown out). Flour.

Whole wheat flour, old but not too old. Sugars, chocolate chips (three bags' worth of a good brand, and Derek had a feeling he knew what the baking supplies were normally for), and a tiny plastic bin of baking spices.

There was milk in the fridge, and butter and eggs. No yeast, but he wouldn't have time for that anyway.

He thought he had everything he needed, though. Just needed to remember the proportions.

\-----

An hour later, the kitchen smelled like cinnamon rolls and the upstairs was stirring. 

Derek smirked into the tea he'd found and focused on Stiles. Felt sleepy bewilderment turn abruptly into irritation, then confusion, then excitement-disbelief as one heel hit the ground too hard, making Stiles stumble on his way toward the door. Down the stairs.

It wasn't long until Stiles was plastered against his back, smiling against his neck. "Oh my god, you weirdo."

"You're welcome," Derek drawled, taking another sip of his tea. "They've got another five minutes, and they'll need to rest. You could shower."

"Are you saying I smell?" Stiles complained, leaning around Derek as if he needed to check the timer himself. (For all the good it would do him. Derek wasn't risking anything that might buzz. Just had an eye on the time.)

Derek snorted and pushed back with his elbow, pressing into Stiles' stomach until he backed off a bit. "I'm saying you should get ready for school."

"- _\--shit_."

And he was alone again, sipping his tea.

\-----

John reminded him of Niq, first thing in the morning. He made his way down to the kitchen and squinted at Derek until he was handed a plate with a cinnamon roll on it. Then he stood there, squinting at the cinnamon roll, for a good ten seconds before making his way to the tiny coffee machine tucked into the corner.

He didn't seem much more awake three minutes later, with half a cinnamon roll and most of a cup of coffee gone, but the pauses were getting shorter.

Stiles put away three rolls without stopping. (Probably for the best, in amount if not speed. Even at a half batch and with Derek eating two, that still left another two rolls and they wouldn't last more than a day at most.)

Watching Stiles eat did, at least, make Derek glad he hadn't found any powdered sugar for icing. All Stiles was sucking off his fingers was butter.

John made a soft disgruntled noise and Derek jerked his eyes away from Stiles' mouth. Realized a moment later that John was glaring into his mug, not at Derek.

Pushed his chair back anyway to fetch the last bit of coffee.

Didn't wonder at all what it would be like, to have this morning with his family. To have John and Niq sitting next to each other, glaring balefully at anyone who tried to get coherent thought out of them before they were good and ready. To have Danielle and Stiles squabbling over the same cinnamon roll, before someone (Laura, Peter, Paul because he was sneaky like that) stole it from them.

Derek focused on the coffee before he could pull Vic and Cara into the dream. Paint Edward in. Wonder what his great-aunt Grace had looked like.

\-----

He was shooed out of the kitchen before he could do more than get the remaining rolls packed up for the fridge and set the pan to soak. Derek took the opportunity to steal the bathroom and change into his running gear. Ended up passing John on the stairs as he went down and John went up, on his way to change for work, presumably. 

Stiles ran up next, needing to fetch his bag from his room. Then he sort of--cascaded down the stairs, on his way back. He never fell. Never seemed _really_ in danger of falling. It just looked like he _should_ be.

He was also carrying _two_ bags. His backpack and a small duffle.

Derek didn't let himself wonder about that. "Can I catch a ride with you?"

Stiles rolled his eyes as he straightened his backpack over his shoulder. "Uh, yeah? I was kind of figuring. Where to?" The bond twisted, guilt and worry blooming. "I mean, I can probably--"

Probably what? Drive him _home_? Derek snorted.

"The school," he interrupted, before Stiles could work himself up any more. "It's right off a green corridor that connects to the Preserve." He shrugged at the face Stiles was making, somewhere between appalled and amused. "It's a nice run."

Only a couple minutes until he'd be deep enough in the trees that he could take his sneakers off and run barefoot. _So_ much better than running through town.

Stiles blinked at him, then rolled his eyes. "Weirdo. Whatever," he said, handing the duffle off to Derek as though this was something they'd discussed. "If we're leaving this early, I should get awesome parking. C'mon," he jerked his head toward the door, but didn't start toward it. Twisting around instead to look up at his dad, awake now and making his way (calmly, steadily, not even giving an impression of falling) down the stairs in uniform. "Bye, Dad. Be safe, and I'll see you...whenever, okay?"

John nodded with a very familiar roll of the eyes and reached out to grab Stiles' jacket before he could do more than _start_ moving away. Which--he hadn't done, until John was in grabbing range.

People were so weird.

"Call if you won't be home," John muttered into Stiles' hair, and there was no way he was actually oblivious to the embarrassed squirm his words provoked. Not when he was hugging Stiles like his surname was actually Hale. "And I mean _call_ , not text. No skipping school tomorrow if you stay up all night either, you hear me? And you'd better do any homework you're assigned today."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it. Now let me go." Stiles awkwardly patted his dad on the back (like he hadn't been hugging just as hard as his dad had) and squirmed away.

He was a bit flushed when he walked past Derek, but what embarrassment was there was mostly covered up by belonging, affection, pride.

It felt like pack. Right down to that little bit of embarrassment that probably wouldn't ever actually go away. (For Derek, at least. Because his pack was far, _far_ more embarrassing than Sheriff Stilinski.)

Derek followed Stiles out to the Jeep, got settled in the passenger seat with his bag and Stiles' tossed in the back (on top of Stiles' backpack, but if he didn't want it buried he shouldn't have thrown it in first), and waited.

For no reason, apparently, because Stiles didn't bother flailing over the hugging or explaining the second bag or why his dad seemed to think he was spending the night (which he was more than welcome to do, but it wasn't like they'd _talked_ about it).

(Granted, they hadn't really discussed the night before either, and that had worked out just fine.)

"I'm still planning to just head over to your house after school," Stiles offered, once he'd pulled out of the driveway and gotten moving. "I can do homework there if someone's enough of an ass to assign something I'm not expecting." He tilted his head to one side, shoulder hitching up in an aborted shrug. "So, probably just chemistry. But yeah, so long as I'm around someone _other than you_ it shouldn't be a problem."

"Sounds good," Derek said, content to slump in his seat, close his eyes, and just listen to Stiles and the sound of the road beneath them.

Not that Stiles had anything left to say, but there was still his heartbeat, the sound of his breath, the rustle of fabric as he moved and the tap of skin against plastic when he fidgeted at the steering wheel. It wasn't awkward, just quiet.

It was always nice to be reminded that that was an option with Stiles, sometimes.

\-----

"Okay, nap time's over."

Derek grumbled, but didn't bother correcting Stiles. He should be able to feel that Derek wasn't asleep, muffled or not. 

The parking lot was mostly empty, just a few cars and even fewer people, clustered around or walking from what were apparently the most desirable parking spots. (Some of them made sense, like by the entrance or the main doors. The random cluster by the far-corner light post...not so much.) "Am I taking your bag?"

Stiles had already slithered out of the jeep and was extricating his backpack from under the others. Blinked confusion at him and wiggled a strap from his backpack at Derek.

"No, the other--"

"Oh. That." Stiles shrugged, finally getting his backpack out with a too-firm tug that left him stumbling back a step. "I was just gonna shove it in my locker. I think I've got room for it. But if it's not--"

Derek rolled his eyes. "I can just take it. Is it alright if I put my bag in it? Felt like it had room."

"Yeah, sure. Thanks."

Derek eyed his mate, frowning. He felt--well, wiggly. (He wanted to make a face at Stiles for even introducing that concept to his brain, but it was alarmingly accurate.) A little uncomfortable, a little uncertain, a little--

_Exposed_ , Derek realized, as a girl glanced their way on her path to the doors.

Right. Stiles was a high school student. He forgot all of what that meant.

Derek huffed a sigh and leaned against the Jeep, smiling at Stiles. "So...make interesting rumors by kissing you goodbye, or just let people wonder?"

And _that_ was relief, along with a grin. "Uh. Interesting?"

Chuckling, Derek pulled Stiles in. Didn't stop when footsteps nearby paused and more heart rates than just his and Stiles' went up. Didn't stop until Stiles pulled away, laughing and thrumming with mischievous joy.

"Yeah, okay, I said 'interesting' not 'awkward boner for first period'."

"You're no fun," Derek muttered, smirking against Stiles' cheek. He backed off though. Waved goodbye and turned to fuss with the bags, because carrying two differently weighted, differently sized bags was still awkward, even for a werewolf.

Stiles was nearly to the door before there was a clear (well, to a werewolf) "Hey, Stilinski."

Derek pretended to fiddle with something in Stiles' bag (there wasn't much to fiddle with, it was mostly just a couple changes of clothes and, for some reason, a pillow) and turned his attention toward the doors. Stiles felt like surprise, as he not-quite-stumbled and responded back with a careful "Hey Danny," but that was all. No nerves, no excitement, just startled.

It made Derek curious.

"Is that why Lydia's willing to admit you exist, now?"

Male. Another teenager, not a teacher. Not much else he could tell by the voice.

"Lydia doesn't know I have a boyfriend," Stiles pointed out, sounding exasperated but mostly feeling confused. "I mean. Why would she?"

The stranger (to Derek, at least) scoffed. "Yeah, sure."

"Okay, fine, I'm willing to admit she might know, but that's just because she knows everything. I mean, _everything_ , she's--"

"No, stop," the other boy said, sounding amused but also sincerely tired with a conversation that hadn't even started yet. "I just thought having _that_ might be why you'd stopped obsessing over Lydia. Now I see how wrong I was."

Stiles scoffed and hit the doors, metal clanging around his words. "Yeah, no. She hasn't stopped being awesome. _Nothing_ will stop her from being awesome."

Derek snorted and finished fiddling with the bags. Started across the parking lot, edging around the cars slowly but steadily filling the lot.

He attracted stares. Mostly curious or suspicious (which--good. Random twenty-somethings in the parking lot should make them wary), but it was a familiar jawline and obnoxious poof of hair that caught his attention. 

Twitchy, wolf's head silhouette, still hadn't scheduled to have the rest of his tattoo filled in.

Attending high school.

He was either older than most of his classmates _or_ had an excellent fake ID. Great.

None of that explained why the girl tucked into his side was glaring at him like he was a piece of rotten fruit, spoiling her lunch.

They passed each other, six cars apart, and Derek was glad.

Gladder when he hit the tree line and could start to disappear.

High school. Weirder than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tattoo Artist of the Week:** [Alice Carrier](http://tattrx.tumblr.com/tagged/alice-carrier) of Portland, OR. (Her own website available [here](http://www.alicecarrier.com/).)
> 
> Not a lot to say this week. So tired. So very, very tired.


	58. that would be hard to explain

Instincts were wilder, under a full moon. It wasn't so much that they were harder to control than any other time, it was just took more effort to remember he _wanted_ to.

Derek's sense of Stiles began to fade as he ran, losing the emotional impressions (baffled and pleased, for the most part, with occasional stabs of irritation or surprise) until it was just 'Stiles: not hurt'. 

He slowed to a walk before it could fade to just 'mate'. Just a direction and the knowledge Stiles wasn't in danger.

Stopped before it reached that point. Justified it by sitting down and taking his shoes off, opening up the bag (then the other bag, his bag) and tucking the sneakers and socks in their normal pocket. Making sure he didn't get dirt all over Stiles' things (mostly by smell, and that was absolutely a method of checking for dirt, not just an excuse to indulge himself in Stiles' scent). Touching all the pockets, just in case something was--

His phone buzzed.

From the inner pocket of his bag. Which was in Stiles' bag.

He dug his phone out, ignoring the pleased curl his brain made at the idea of having to close the bags up all over again, and checked it. Expected Stiles.

Nope. Mom.

_Do not even think about it. Get home._

Derek chuffed annoyance at his phone but put everything away faster than before. Got up and started to run again.

His sense of Stiles dimmed to a direction, but it left room for him to feel his mother. The pull of his alpha drawing him home. A welcoming red thrum buried deep in the green.

It wasn't like he could lurk around the high school all day anyway. That would be hard to explain to John. Especially in a way John could explain to _other_ people.

\-----

Derek followed the banks of a creek most of the rest of the way home, dodging politely around the homes of the more grumpily territorial 'tenants' (as his mother liked to call them) along the way. And it was tempting, so, so tempting, to take a detour. Follow the trail of that rabbit, that rat, that squirrel, that possum. Not because he wanted anything to eat. Just because they were _there_. To follow, to chase, to _catch_.

The woods always felt bigger, when the moon was full. More alive, more intense, just-- _more_. A green vibrancy as nebulous as Stiles but far, far darker and twice as vast.

His mother was waiting for him at the door when he made it home, laughing at him with her eyes and taking Stiles' bag from him. Pushing him back around and out.

"Go on. You need it. Just stay away from the school. I've asked Laura to keep to that side of the Preserve."

He did need it, but that didn't stop him from huffing annoyance before he ran out again.

\-----

On a month like this, he'd normally run with Danielle. It didn't matter which one of them had the itch under their skin and the need to be immersed in the green.

He could have run with Paul if he hadn't been working. Or his grandmother. His dad. But--

Derek ran toward the middle of the Preserve. To the wild areas where actual trails were few and far between. (Where he actually needed to pay more attention, because the people who knew enough to be that far out weren't generally sticking to the trails anyway.)

He ran until he couldn't hear (smell-feel-sense) anything human, only family and the forest. Paused there for a moment, listening to the trees and everything in them. 

Howled for his sister, who wasn't.

(Danielle was too far away to hear it, but she might feel it. And even if she didn't, it made him feel better. Made her absence hurt less.)

Then he ran again (still). Did _not_ go and investigate the bear that was lumbering out of his way.

 _Did_ chase down a rabbit.

He'd been out for a while. He was hungry.

\-----

It was a change in the pack that pulled him home again. The red pulse of home-family-pack felt richer. Felt--

Felt like _Stiles_ , Derek realized, when he'd gotten close enough for the mate bond to flood back in. 

He ran faster. (Did _not_ detour briefly after another rabbit, before remembering Stiles' reaction to Niq's story. Nope. Didn't happen. Especially since there were no witnesses to what hadn't actually happened.)

It took him almost five minutes to wonder about the way Stiles was seeping into the pack bonds, from far enough away that it was definitely _pack_ he was feeling, not pack-and-mate.

Yet another thing that should have been happy, but would probably worry people instead.

Great.

\-----

Derek didn't even make it to the house. Went straight to his mate, who was coming to him, walking out past the treeline to find him. Which--might have been a mistake.

"Okay," Stiles nodded, sounding a little queasy as he shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned back slightly. Just enough it was noticeable. "Now I understand why your mom was talking about giving you a chance to hose down."

Derek huffed annoyance and scrubbed at the blood still on his face. (It was dry enough that it helped, even though his hands weren't exactly clean themselves.) "It's just rabbit."

The face Stiles made was amazing.

"At least I didn't bring _you_ one," he pointed out oh-so-helpfully and tried not to snicker at his mate.

" _Oh_ my god."

Derek grinned. Realized he couldn't keep his teeth in because he still had _fangs_. Pulled the shift back.

Nearly jumped out of his skin when Stiles' hand curled around his arm.

"I hope you're not doing that for my benefit," Stiles muttered irritably before tugging him toward the house. "C'mon, I'll help you clean up."

It was tempting to rub his face all over Stiles, blood be damned.

(He settled for relaxing into the shift again, letting his ears point and his fangs press against his lips.)

\-----

Stiles laughed, delighted, when he realized 'hose down' was literal, not a euphemism.

He was also _brutal_ with the spray. Unrepentant and still laughing when Derek picked him up bodily, hose still going and soaking them both before he could get it turned off, and hauled Stiles inside. 

(To the mudroom. His mother would have his hide if he dripped in past where there were towels and a change of clothes were available and waiting for both of them.)

\-----

They retreated to the main room, toweled mostly dry and bundled in the sweatpants and t-shirts someone had grabbed from his room. Stiles reclaimed his bag, grumbled about homework, and made for one of the couches.

He probably expected Derek to sit between him and the arm, not stretch out across the _rest_ of the couch and shove his face against Stiles' hip, nose pressed into the gap between Stiles' thigh and the cushions.

It smelled amazing. Like pack and family and _Stiles_ so strongly he'd probably choke if he didn't feel so hungry for it. (And that deep in the fabric, with everything pressed tight and shielded from distraction, he could still smell Danielle.)

"Ooookay. Can you breathe, down there?"

Derek grunted agreement and looped an arm around Stiles' knees. "Chemistry?"

"English," Stiles said, and Derek could _feel_ the way he was bobbing his head and shoulders. It was weird. "Teacher has us reading The Legend of Sleepy Hollow for our mini-Halloween unit. I blasted through it at lunch, but I've got a worksheet thing for tomorrow and a short essay for Wednesday, now. Nothing hard, but."

"Might as well get it done," Maria agreed, _then_ entered the room.

Stiles startled and Derek growled a complaint, but his mother just laughed and padded over to ruffle Stiles' hair and lean against the back of the couch. "Paul's due home soon. The terrors are downstairs with David and Cara, Peter and Mom are in the kitchen, and Niq and Matt are--somewhere," she rattled off (for Stiles' benefit, he assumed, since he already knew most of that. Could hear them, if he couldn't feel them. "Close, anyway. But I'm heading out, so howl if there's any trouble."

Then she nearly overturned herself leaning over the back of the couch to kiss the back of Derek's head. Because she was his mother, and she was horrible.

"Howl," Stiles muttered, amused, as she walked away. Then choked, probably because she was stripping as she went. Derek could hear the cloth rustling.

"Mom can go full wolf," Derek offered as a distraction. (It sounded like she should be out of view anyway.) "She'd wreck her clothes if she tried shifting in them."

All the way, anyway. But she rarely bothered with the partial shift anymore.

"Okay, _that_ sounds cool. Is that because she's the alpha, or--"

Derek rolled onto his side until he could look up at Stiles. "It's practice, and control." And stubbornness. "Laura's trying to get there too." 

Peter could too. Mostly. Could get the form, just couldn't maintain it. Derek wasn't going to bring that up, though. It wasn't his sore spot for sharing, and Peter got--grumpy, when it was brought up.

"So, would it be weird if I asked to see your mom like that, sometime? I mean, technically she's naked, so it feels--"

"We don't care about clothes, Stiles," Derek sighed. "I run around naked in the woods with my sisters all the time."

Stiles blinked at him, drawn out, emphatic, and pointed. "And again. Werewolves. Weirdo cult. It's a fine distinction."

Derek poked Stiles in the side. "How was school? Get any flack for this morning?"

Stiles snorted. "Uh, not so much, no. Lydia actually saved a spot for me at lunch. Which," he paused, shaking his head. "Last year, that would have made my _life_. Today, I was just thinking about pod people and if half my school had been replaced already."

"Do you usually eat lunch with Lydia?" Derek asked, confused. "I thought she didn't know you."

Stiles snorted again, setting his homework aside and--and running his hand through Derek's hair. Derek could feel himself melting. Tried harder to focus, to pay attention. "Oh, she knew who I was. She just didn't acknowledge that I existed. That's different. And yeah, Lydia's friends with Allison and Allison's dating Scott and Scott's still technically my best friend, so I eat with that whole group sometimes. It was weird at first, but eh," he shrugged, tugging lightly at Derek's hair. (And Derek wasn't looking, had his eyes closed, but the swell of affection-happy across the bond when Derek didn't hold back a pleased rumble felt a lot like a smile.) 

"It's been a year," Stiles continued, "and I've found out they can be just as dorkish as me and Scott in their own way. So whatever. We might even sort of be friends, now?" Stiles' hand disappeared, probably to gesture, and Derek put a lot of effort into not whining at the loss. "I don't know. Lydia and Danny grilled me about you at lunch, though. I guess they thought I was rebounding or something and you were taking advantage. I dunno."

Danny. That was the kid from that morning, outside the doors. But that could wait. "Why do you feel wiggly?"

And again. Damn Stiles anyway for introducing that to his repertoire.

Stiles groaned, and there was a thump as his head hit the back of the couch. "Okay, well, I might have said we've been a bit of a thing since this summer? Because trust me, for the amount of time we've actually been dating--"

"Yeah, that'd be alarming to humans," Derek agreed. But still. "Shouldn't lie to your friends, though."

"Didn't, really." Stiles' thigh shifted, jostling Derek's head and making him tighten his grip on Stiles' knees reflexively, trying to keep his pillow still. "We've been 'a thing' that long at least, magically speaking. Just not romantically. Not my fault they all assumed that's what I meant."

Derek chuffed annoyance and pinched Stiles' thigh, light enough it shouldn't bruise but hard enough to make him twitch and mutter. "Yeah it is."

"Just because they don't know all the options," Stiles grumped, smoothing a hand through Derek's hair again. "Anyway. The fact that you'd met my dad and that we've known each other for most of a year did a lot more to make them ease off than how long we'd been a thing, so whatever."

"You really did get interrogated, didn't you," Derek laughed, pressing his cheek against Stiles' thigh and contemplating rolling back into the inviting crevice next to his hip. "Didn't you read your English assignment at lunch?"

"There might have been a _reason_ I was so engrossed."

Derek grunted understanding and shoved his face back into the crease between Stiles' hip and the couch, where the air was dense and thick with the scent of his mate and family.

\-----

It started out as just them.

That didn't last.

Paul came home, growling and irritable and shirtless before he hit the door. 

With the way he felt, Derek was surprised he was dressed at all. Wasn't shifted and chasing his sister the alpha through the Preserve until he could fit in his skin again.

But instead, he plopped himself at Stiles' feet and pressed his head against Derek's armpit. Stiles' heartrate kicked up and the pages of his book stopped turning, but he didn't ask. Still didn't ask when Niq showed up, carrying Erin and wearing her real-bunny bunny slippers, and promptly curled up in her mate's lap.

Matt was next, with--kittens. 

Derek twisted his head around until he could squint in Matt's direction, but the kid just grinned at him and walked over, plopping the scritch-scratch twins on his back.

Where they started purring.

Matt nodded contentedly and wandered off again. Maybe to get more kittens. 

Matt was weird.

\-----

It wasn't long before Stitch had been added to the collection on Derek's back, Pitch was in Niq's lap, and Matt was playing with Patch on the other side of the room.

Peter and Olivia entered the room, and the kittens all tensed up and slunk out. (Matt just rolled his eyes and dragged his school bag closer.)

Olivia patted Peter's head. "We should have made you volunteer at the clinic too," she sighed, then made her way over to curl up next to Matt.

"Ugh, no thanks," Peter grumbled, stalking over to flop on the other side of Stiles' feet, scuffing over until he was pressed up against Paul and Niq. "I can only imagine how many sappy makeouts I'd have had to witness."

"If you're here," Paul sighed, sounding horribly put upon. "That means the food's ready."

"Yes," Peter agreed easily, and the rasp of cloth suggested he'd looped one of his legs over one of Paul's. Paul's irritable whine practically confirmed it.

"I could have sworn you three had grown up by now," his grandmother sighed, standing. "Does anyone else want something?"

"Yes please," Niq pipped up cheerfully, just as the front door opened again.

Laura, smelling of sap and green things and damp with creek water. "The food's ready al--"

" _Out_ ," Olivia growled. "Dry off, try again."

"But--"

"I'll put something together for you too. _Mudroom_."

Laura growled but backed out onto the porch again.

Derek would have felt smug but, really, that had been him often enough.

"What about you, Matt?" Grandmother called back as she finished her trip to the kitchen. "Stiles?"

Matt didn't answer, getting up instead to trot after their grandmother with a curious tinge to his feel. (Couldn't smell the sliced ham, or the bread. Or the potatoes Peter had baked that morning, or sliced celery, carrots, cucumber, peppers... Every full moon meal was easy food, stuff they could grab in passing, but that didn't mean it was predictable.)

"I'm good, thanks," Stiles called back, louder than he needed to, then poked Derek's shoulder. "What about--"

"He ate already," Paul said, sounding smug.

Peter snickered and Olivia snorted.

Over his head somewhere, Stiles was probably making faces again.

"Ugh, you people and your rabbits," Niq muttered.

His family was the _worst_.

\-----

"This is seriously what you guys do for the full moon?"

Stiles sounded amused. Felt amused. Derek growled a complaint into his hip.

"Well, usually Der doesn't have someone using him as a homework desk," Laura drawled from somewhere around his calves, managing to sound sarcastic and half asleep at the same time, somehow. 

Stiles snorted and his torso twisted, doing something that made Laura yelp an objection. "Please. You moved your leg so I could prop my textbook on it. Without me asking. You are _totally_ used to being used as furniture."

"I usually do my homework on Dad," Matt piped up from the other side of the pile. "Laura and Derek fidget too much."

Somewhere in the tangle of family recovering from a day of running or working or both, Vic and Peter laughed.

His family.

(He supposed they weren't all bad.)

\-----

Maria came home (and found a robe, thankfully). Paul wiggled out from under Niq to take his turn on patrol.

Tania sailed in at some point, scooped Matt up and barged her way through the pile until someone made room for her next to Peter. She still stank of hospital (wouldn't take the day off, not once since they realized how much _less_ dangerous she was at work, than at home) and was making a near-constant irritated rumble, but it felt good to have her there.

That seemed to be the cue for Olivia to leave, though. For her to head downstairs, for Cara and Stacia to come up before Gwen and Jacob needed to be _chained_ up.

"Why can't I stay downstairs?" Stacia complained, casually kicking Peter as she wormed her way between him and her mother, since Niq's lap was still full of Erin. "Greg gets to stay downstairs. _He's_ just a _baby_."

"You're human," Matt muttered, not nearly as irritably as he would have, the year before. "Greg's not, anymore."

Technically, he never was. But that was hard to explain.

\-----

After Stiles finished with his homework (and discovered that just holding his book and papers in the direction of his backpack got them passed down and set next to it), he put Laura and Derek's supposed fidgetiness to _shame_. His thighs kept twitching under Derek's chest, his torso twisting and leaning, his hands tapping against Derek's back.

He didn't feel like he wanted up, though. Felt like he wanted to stay. Just--needed to move at the same time.

Which--fair. _Stiles_ hadn't spent all day running the Preserve, or tamping down on the urge to snap and growl at coworkers. None of the humans had. They usually ended up at the fringes, though. Wandered away and back as it suited them.

Stiles was--kind of buried.

(It wasn't just Derek, though. He had one of Laura's feet bumping the back of his head, which meant she had at least one leg across Stiles' lap. His mother was practically sitting on his head, too, and was probably why Stiles was constantly tilted forward. She liked to burrow.)

At some point, Stiles finally went still, just his fingers smoothing idly over Derek's shirt. Tracing out and back and-- 

"Should you be doing that?" Vic asked softly, pausing on her way past the couch to the bathroom.

"...maybe not," Stiles sighed, and his hands stilled.

Derek hated Vic just a little bit, because Stiles started fidgeting, again. Had to work his way up and out of the knot of werewolves he'd been lounging in, not long after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's not the end of the full moon night, we're probably realistically only at about 6pm or so, honestly.
> 
> I got a heads up recently that some of my older tattoo links are no longer valid. If you see one and think about it, let me know the artist and I'll find a link for them again. But in the meantime...
> 
>  **Tattoo Artist of the Week:** [Supakitch](http://www.supakitch.com/) appears to be available at two locations in France (Paris and Biarritz) and two locations in the US (New York and LA), and has some amazing non-tattoo art up for viewing as well.
> 
> As a heads up, if I haven't managed to finish the story by then, there will be another hiatus in March, possibly starting as early as late February. I'm going on vacation with my mother, and do not trust that I'll be able to write a chapter while doing that. I also have other things that I'd really, really like to be able to commit more time to working on. (I do love this story, but it takes a lot of time.)
> 
> [edit: Minor edit made about an hour and a half after initial posting. I realized belatedly that I never addressed whether or not Maria was still naked for her part in the pack cuddles, which--whoops.]


	59. the whole pack howled with her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be aware, **this chapter gets a little violent**. It isn't horribly graphic, but there are potential triggers that I know would bug friends of mine without warning. If you're concerned, check the end notes for more details. There's advice for skipping past that section without skipping the chapter entirely there as well.

"About time for me to trade places with someone downstairs," Tania sighed, stretching her legs out until her toe claws popped through her socks. "Shhhh-oot."

Derek buried a snicker in his mother's leg. Laura buried hers against the side of his ankle. His mother and Peter didn't bother. Peter was the only one to get bit for it, though.

"You're all horrible people," Tania informed them solemnly, pressing a kiss against Matt's temple and extricating herself. "Except Matt."

"Hey," Niq protested. (Futilely. She'd painted Tania's toe claws aqua one month, back when Tania was in the nebulous stage between out-of-control and can-be-trusted-alone-in-public for full moons. And that was how they learned that even as a werewolf, Tania's sense of smell was practically _nonexistent_.)

Tania snorted and headed for the basement stairs, pausing at one of the doorways into the kitchen. "Stiles, they're probably going to start running soon. If you're taking part, you should get ready."

"You're not-- What happened to your socks?"

Even Matt laughed that time, but Tania's growl sounded more petulant than actually irritated. Stiles felt sheepish, but still amused. "I mean, sorry, but."

There must have been some gesture to accompany Tania's response. He could hear it in the way her clothes moved, but not well enough to tell what it was. "Don't worry about it. Derek or one of the others will be _happy_ to explain, I'm sure. And no, I'm heading downstairs to help keep an eye on the kids while the others run."

Because Tania didn't need the run the way the rest of them did. Because if the kids were threatened, Tania was hands down the scariest (excepting, maybe, his mother).

The pile was starting to move. Laura stretched, popping her toe claws out and in (probably intentionally) before kicking her legs over Niq's head, off the edge of the couch and rolling to her feet. Peter hauled Stacia over his lap to dump into Matt's, making both of them laugh. His mother showed no signs of moving yet, but Derek could feel it. The pull through the pack bonds. That extra spike of energy and the desire to make those bonds stronger. To run together, hunt together, howl as one.

It was hitting him hard, that month. Laura too. He could feel it in the way the bond between them buzzed, fizzing like radio static.

Which did nothing to explain why she was stalking toward the kitchen.

There were too many humans in front of the couch for the speed he wanted, so Derek went up and over the back. (Startled Patch back into hiding instead, but it was a compromise he'd live with.)

He ignored Peter's snicker. Caught up with his sister in the doorway to the kitchen and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her up short and trapping her arms. "What are you doing?"

Stiles had--what looked like a sandwich made with a halved baked potato instead of bread (what) in one hand, almost half of it already in his mouth. He didn't feel threatened, though. Amused? Yes. Suspicious? Also yes (and only sensible, because _Laura_ ).

"I was just going to show Stiles what happened to Tania's socks," she said, all false innocence and mock wounded and--

And dropped her weight, pulled her knees up. It was reflexive to counterbalance, to tighten his grip and keep her up. Something he did without thinking, before he realized what she was up to.

Laura wiggled her toes in Stiles' direction, claws out. "See?"

Stiles choked on the bite he'd just taken, bringing a hand up to pound on his chest as he recovered.

His _family_. _Why_. Derek sighed and dropped Laura, not even caring when she twisted and managed to land in a crouch before falling over and proceeding to laugh her ass off.

"You have claws on your _toes_?" Stiles asked, making an even better face than he had for the rabbit blood. "Why? I mean, claws for all nails makes sense, I guess. Just--"

"We could show you," Laura offered, finally getting her giggles under control. "But you should probably change for the run first, if you're gonna come with."

"You don't have to," Derek added. "Niq never has."

Niq _had_ gone running with Paul. Once. Came home smeared with dirt and her hair full of twigs and leaves and said she preferred the stationary bike and the weights down in the basement for exercise.

Stiles' response was a noise that sounded a bit like a cross between a growling kitten and an unhappy garbage disposal. "As if," he rolled his eyes and shoved the rest of his potato-sandwich into his mouth. "Whu-doua wer?"

Laura made a face at Stiles but finally stood up. "Pants you can move in and flexible shoes, ideally. And don't talk with your mouth full."

Stiles rolled his eyes again, exaggerated and obnoxious.

Derek grinned. "You've also lost all mocking privileges for me putting potatoes on a sandwich."

The look Stiles shot him was mocking. The sensation through their bond practically screamed 'You wish' without needing words.

He headed upstairs to find his bag, though. Still chewing.

\-----

They didn't wait for Stiles.

"I can't believe I'm running in a sports bra this month," Laura grumped, jumping from the top step of the porch to the lawn, about ten feet out. "I hope you appreciate that."

Derek huffed, taking the stairs more sedately. Kept a gap open. Focused on the way his bones felt heavier with each step. Let his focus narrow to just _here_. Just _now_. "Yeah. Sure. So how are we--"

Laura growled playfully, eyes flashing, and the gap was gone. Derek caught her elbow with only inches to spare. Stepped back and pulled, made her keep moving into the strike. Made her twist.

Shoved at her back hard enough to send her rolling. Dropped into a crouch and grinned with all his teeth. Laura didn't stop until she hit the edge of a garden bed a good fifteen feet away, but she was on her feet instantly.

Tensed, crouched, and closed the gap again, teeth snarling and snapping at his nose. The teeth weren't serious. Her laughing eyes almost shouted it, bright gold and crinkled at the corners, even as a hand closed over his shoulder in a way that meant _business_.

Then he was flying. 

Hit the ground again hard enough to knock the air out of his chest. Got lost for a moment in the sensation of rolling, of gravel hidden in the grass, of his shoulder grinding in the socket while something tried to heal.

A moment. Then he was putting his weight behind the roll because Laura threw him _away from the house_ and he wanted as much space as he could get.

That was enough of a cue for Laura to realize what she'd done. He heard the frustration in her growl. Heard her toes dig in to sprint again.

Derek pushed his arm out as he rolled into it. Pushed himself up, turned and braced and Laura was already there.

It was too fast for thought. Her claws moved and his arm was already moving to block, letting her leave gouges because it let _him_ push forward, grab her knee. (Could take her leg out entirely with a careful slash, but no.) Got a good, blunt fingered grip and yanked up, leaned back, twisted, threw--

Laura hit a tree with a crack that left him wincing. 

Made him forget to build space again.

She was in his face again and he growled as claws glanced across his ribs. A knee to the same spot, which he blocked. A blow against the ear, which he didn't.

He didn't notice as much, that time, when the world went flying. 

Noticed the ground when he landed. Cracked his jaw and pushed a tooth out of alignment. 

But Laura wasn't there to keep him down.

Derek twisted to look up. Laura was backing off. Stepping away and taking space. Why--

"He's fine, see?"

Derek's head snapped around, turning back to the house. To Stiles and his mother (alpha), sitting on the porch steps. Most of the rest of the family clustered behind them. (Peter was missing, but that wouldn't last. Probably just saying goodnight to Tania and the kids.)

Cara was curled over the railing, pressed up against the pillar bordering the stairs and as close to Maria as she could get without sitting down and joining them. He couldn't smell her, not with most of the pack clustered around her and so much space between them, but the ever-stronger pack bond was enough to let him know she wasn't anywhere near as upset as she used to get, when someone in the family was hurt. The worry was still there. So was the curiosity.

The determination was new, and might explain how close Vic had been keeping all night.

Stiles was frowning, but not-- Not afraid. Confused, anxious, concerned, but not really _worried_.

But why would he be? He could feel Derek.

Which-- Derek settled into a more comfortable position and carefully nudged his tooth back into place. His jaw had already fixed itself, but teeth always took a bit longer.

"They aren't even fighting," his mother continued, voice teasing and fond. "If they were, they'd be doing a _much_ better job of it, I promise."

Laura and Derek chuffed their irritation at her in unison.

"Want us to show off for real?" Laura offered, straightening out of her crouch and bouncing on her toes. "It'd mean blood."

"There's already blood," Stiles pointed out with a grimace. Which...fair enough. "And it's mostly Derek's."

Also true.

Laura rolled her eyes, which would never stop looking absurd when they were gold and glowing in the night. It wouldn't. "More blood. Still mostly his."

"I broke some of her ribs," Derek pointed out, shrugging when Stiles turned a baffled stare his way. "She's not hurting me more than I'm hurting her. It's just more visible."

" _Some_ ," Laura muttered darkly, softly enough to keep it from the humans.

"Derek's a tank," his dad said from his spot along the railing, and Stiles snapped his head around, attention sharpening.

So his dad was making sense to _someone_ , at least. (Though Vic and Cara looked too amused to be left out of the joke and really? What.)

David smirked at Derek, probably _could_ smell his irritation despite the distance, then turned toward Stiles, jerking his head toward the grass (and Laura, and Derek). "He's a tank. She's more of a rogue. They switch when they're just playing. Want to see what they look like when they're pretending to be serious?"

Stiles turned his attention back to Derek, and Derek could _feel_ the question. Didn't have to try and answer, because it was already there. Already found, and Stiles was nodding. "Okay. Sure."

Laura changed her footing, dropping her right foot back and twisting to present him with her side. Took the defensive, which--

That was pretty much a present. Laura sucked at strict defense.

Derek let the world narrow down again. Crouched low and charged with a growl. 

Her kick caught him in the shoulder. He didn't try to stop it, just took the blow and tried to close the gap because she was already moving away. Spinning to one side and out of range. Making him engage again.

And again. He closed the gap, she drew blood and pushed away. Pushed for space.

And again.

Again.

It was a dance. A painful dance of pursuit and attack, but a dance all the same.

But the gaps kept getting smaller and eventually she only had time to brace herself and spin, kicking for as much range as possible and it was a _mistake_ because he was already there. Caught her ankle and pulled and her claws were digging in under his ribs but it didn't _matter_ because his were on her throat.

Laura growled and ground her thumb claw against his sternum before going limp. Letting her hand fall away.

Derek chuffed at her and backed off. Offered her a hand up before ripping off the remains of his shirt and wiping away the worst of the blood.

"You guys play really, really violently," Stiles said, sounding queasy again. 

But not afraid. Not panicking. Not running away.

He did startle when Derek's mother stood up, threw her head back and howled, but the feel of him in Derek's head didn't change.

When Derek howled with her, when the whole _pack_ howled with her, tiny piping voices curling out from the house as Gwen and Jacob (and Matt and Stacia, maybe even Greg--) joined in, all his mate did was fall in behind Vic, behind Cara, stumbling until he caught up with his feet, found his stride, and ran.

The pack followed.

\-----

He didn't remember that night very well. 

Sometimes they did. Sometimes they didn't. And bad memories were more likely to stick than good ones. 

So overall, it was sort of a good sign when Derek woke up in the middle of the night, confused by the sensation of flannel when the last thing he remembered feeling was the bark of a tree.

He was home. In Laura's bed, for some reason. The cold line along his back was the wall, because he and _Laura_ barely fit on Laura's bed, and they had Stiles crammed between them.

Werewolves were not the best decision makers, after a full moon run.

Stiles squirmed, making Laura growl and cuddle closer in her sleep. Which--was probably what woke Derek up, because they were slowly crowding him out of breath.

Derek freed his hand from Stiles' mouth and reached over to jab Laura in the hip. Kept it up until gold eyes slit open on a quiet snarl. She blinked twice then huffed irritably and scooted back a few inches.

An unfortunate death by cuddling avoided, Laura went back to sleep. Stiles never woke up, just flowed into the new availability of space and started mumbling (something about tortoises and candy) until Derek repositioned himself and was able to give Stiles his hand again.

Derek didn't remember any tortoises. Did remember a skunk that they hadn't smelled until Paul had drifted close enough to irritate it. Remembered a raccoon that Laura had barrelled in to protect Stiles from. (Remembered the taste of Stiles' amusement, how he was panting but happy, taking a break from the running and not worried because _"Dude, it's a raccoon, not a bear. And it's, like, twenty feet away."_ )

Remembered Stiles accidentally starting a game of tag, and luring Derek in to become it just by smelling like happy-playful-mate on his next turn. Remembered getting tripped into a creek by Peter, and how Stiles had laughed so hard he nearly fell over.

He didn't remember it very well, but all of what he remembered was good.

\-----

It wasn't too unusual for him to sleep well after a family run, but some part of his brain attributed it to Stiles anyway. Even after he was woken up by a flailing elbow to the face and the sound of Laura's laughter across the room.

\-----

Tuesday morning was a blur. A hazy, ugly, confusing blur.

They still hadn't repaired (or remade) the kitchen table after Jacob's fit of enthusiasm, so no one was in their normal places. Half standing, half sitting along (or on) the counters, they were all a mess of not being able to see everyone. Heads twisting constantly just to make sure they were all there. All fine.

Stacia went to school. Jacob was called in as sick with an earache. Niq seemed positively awake and coherent next to Peter and Paul. Laura was obnoxiously chipper. The ham that'd been left out the night before smelled off and had to be banished to the workshop trash before his dad was willing to come into the kitchen. 

His mother refused to shift back to human and still managed to look hungover.

She also refused to budge from Stiles' feet. Sat with her tail curled around his socks and her face pressed against his thigh, and kept giving him imploring looks for bits of sausage and bacon.

Stiles thought it was amusing. Derek thought she was in his spot, even if he couldn't pull off the fur.

Eventually, Stiles left for school. Laura and Paul left for work. (Peter tried to leave for work, before his wife shoved him back into his seat next to Niq with a dry reminder that he usually took Tuesdays off even _without_ the moon.)

At some point, his mother moved to press against his thigh instead, and Laura dashed back into the kitchen for the lunch she'd forgotten.

He didn't remember exactly what order all of that happened in. Was only mostly sure it had.

\-----

The next time Derek woke up, the world made a bit more sense. He was in his own room. Remembered going there after breakfast. Had a kitten on his chest. Remembered hesitating before shutting the door, as a thin black shape darted toward his feet, and asking Pitch if he really wanted to be there before remembering that _cats didn't talk_.

Had Stiles' bag on his floor, which he didn't remember but found pleasing. It could stay.

There was a clang from downstairs, and his mother's voice. "Derek? If you're up, we could use a hand."

He didn't have to wonder what with. Could hear Gwen and Jacob's puppyish growls. (Playful, happy, but still and always a handful.)

He got up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The violence in this chapter is two werewolves play-fighting then sparring. I've tried to work hints in throughout the story that born werewolves are more casual about pain and injury amongst themselves, but this still could come out of left field for people.
> 
> If you're concerned about particular triggers, there's no graphic descriptions of injuries but there are mentions of broken ribs, a broken jaw, a loose tooth, a shoulder out of place, a blow to the head, people being thrown, claws at someone's throat, and claws at someone's ribs. This list is probably worse than the actual story, but far less immediate.
> 
> If you want and/or need to skip this section, look for 'They didn't wait for Stiles' and skip down to '"You guys play really, really violently,"' (Please feel free to use control-F or whatever means you have to find text in order to get there, instead of skimming.)
> 
> Please let me know if I missed anything or should be clearer on any points.
> 
> No links today, sadly. They'll probably be back next week.


	60. yeasty apocalypse

It took a lot of work to tire out two moon-high terrors.

His mother had run them while he was sleeping. Ran them again after he joined in. They raced around the preserve, their alpha flicking her tail at them and weaving them in circles so it was never obvious who was chasing and who was chased.

They paused for lunch, and to trade his mom out for his dad. Lunch was sandwiches, so his mother finally shifted back with an irritated huff. Rolled her eyes when her husband leaned in to kiss her temple before leading the kids to the backyard, their lunches half devoured almost before they'd actually touched them.

Derek turned to follow, but the tug of his alpha held him back, even before her hand touched his arm. "Hold up. We need to talk."

He didn't bother asking what about (could think of about four different options that all started with 'Stiles--'). Stepped away from the side door (and the growling, as Gwen and Jacob pounced on Derek's dad, sending them rolling onto the grass. Gwen sounded weirdly like she was pretending to be Lilo, not Stitch. All little-girl reverb) and dragged one of the other kitchen chairs away from the wall, towards his mother.

She waited until he'd settled down beside her at the island, their thighs pressed together, before she spoke. "You felt Stiles in the pack last night."

And--crap. "I forgot. I meant to mention it, but--"

She was already shaking her head, a pleased smile caught in the corners of her eyes. "I felt it too. Probably before you did. I just wanted you to know that _that_ bond? It's faint. He doesn't seem to be able to feel it yet. It feels like someone hesitating outside the door, not quite ready to knock." She smiled wider and leaned closer to bump her head against his. "It's forming naturally."

Still sooner than it should, but. With a mostly-developed mate bond to piggyback on, it would have been weird if the pack bonds didn't follow. (Probably would have been a bad sign, actually.)

"That's why you were so focused on him this morning," Derek realized, resisting the urge to elbow his mother (his _alpha_ ) over the memory, even if he understood it better now.

Her smile turned into something impish. "A chance to be fed tasty treats, strengthen a new bond, and remind my newest packmate that he's welcome with us? Nah. I was just in it for the bacon."

He huffed annoyance at her and she snapped her teeth playfully at his nose before they went back to their meal.

"You should tell him, though," his mother said, wiping a smear of mayo off her face with the paper towel Derek's dad had wrapped their sandwiches in (his pack was so classy). "So he doesn't worry when _he_ starts feeling it."

And so he'd know not to mess with it. Mate bonds were preferably a once in a lifetime thing. Pack bonds...weren't. Especially for an alpha. Maria knew what Tania felt like, joining the pack. What Niq felt like. What Cara felt like. Special circumstances or not, she'd probably notice if Stiles was speeding up or slowing down the process in ways he shouldn't.

Derek nodded and let her press a kiss against his temple before he retreated to the backyard. The terrors were wrestling under his dad's supervision, had been the entire time, but they were feeling--too much, like they could barely keep inside their skins, shifted or not.

Time to run again.

Everyone took off as soon as Derek hit the grass. Dad in the lead, aiming for one of the longer not-trails to visit Paul at the nursery. (The long way, that looped around and came in from the far side, behind the greenhouses, so Gwen and Jacob didn't accidentally freak out any rabbits. Or employees.)

By the time they'd pried the kids away from Paul (and vice versa) and run home, Stacia was waiting for them, jittering on the porch and launching herself across the grass with a happy shriek once they came into view. Jacob and Gwen howled back, and they were a pile of messy hair, wriggling limbs, and snuffling noses in no time.

"Whew," his dad huffed, bumping his shoulder against Derek's as he walked past. "That's a relief."

His dad grabbed Gwen, already half asleep but still growling at being removed from her cousins, so Derek took a snoring Jacob under one arm and leaned down until Stacia could hop up onto the other. He followed his dad in--to the house, to the main room, to the couch cushions Peter had already pulled down and set on the floor next to the coffee table.

Gwen grumbled when David set her down, eyes slitting open only to drop shut again with a happy chuff as Stacia wiggled out of Derek's grip and stumbled over to join her. Jacob went on her other side. Didn't even seem to wake up for the process, just stretched and flopped and wiggled until he was curled around Stacia's hip, his face smashed against her knee.

Peter crooked a finger at Derek's dad before he could escape, brandishing a piece of paper when he stepped within reach. "Here. This is for you."

"...a request for a parent-teacher meeting," his dad sighed, resigned then confused in a flash, his brow creasing. "For Stacia?" 

Stacia froze, eyes darting up for a second then snapping back down to the coffee table and the papers spread out on it. She pushed away a coloring book page and pulled a sheet of basic math problems closer instead.

And really, that didn't sound like anything Derek needed to be there for, so he started slowly, not-so-casually backing out of the room.

"Paul or Niq should get this, right?" his dad asked. "They're the legal parents."

"Mmmm," Peter hummed agreeably, crossing his hands in his lap. "But they aren't here, and you are."

_Definitely_ nothing he needed to be there for. Derek stepped past the doorway and sidled down the hall toward the kitchen.

Peter had apparently been terrorizing the grocery store before picking Stacia up. There were stacks of canned goods on the counters, neatly arranged above where they were supposed to go, and a new bag of flour was propped against the wall next to the canister holding the remains of the last bag.

He could be useful. Put things away. Take out the older canned goods to make room for the newer stuff at the back. Investigate the fridge, the freezers, for the items _there_ that were probably also only mostly put away.

But that sounded boring, and the flour was _right there_.

Using up the remainder of the old bag would be useful too. Flour went bad if it sat for too long. Best not to mix the old stuff in with the new.

Derek crossed the kitchen and pulled himself up onto the counter, next to the fridge. Opened the awkward-to-reach cupboard above it and pulled down the blue binder.

Peter's cookbooks were useless for bread. Well, mostly useless. His great-grandmother's collection, though... 

His mother talked about her potato rolls every year, like clockwork, the week before Thanksgiving. They used a mashed potato, he knew, because his mother and uncles were in the habit of making sure they made a mash with enough left over for the rolls, even though nobody had made them for--

Since his mother became the alpha, really.

They had leftover potatoes, though. Baked, but that was easily fixed with a little effort and some butter.

Maybe--

\-----

"I like carbs as much as the next werewolf, Derek, but this is a little excessive," Peter drawled, moving one of the muffin pans to the counter next to the fridge.

Derek growled a warning but didn't look up from his kneading. "It's dinner rolls. We'll eat more than you think, and they should freeze well."

"They do," he conceded with a slight dip to his head, but didn't lose the smirk. "I'll just...leave you to your yeasty apocalypse, shall I?" Peter breezed out of the kitchen with a negligent wave. "I'm going to need more than half a counter to make dinner. In case you'd forgotten."

He hadn't forgotten. He just hadn't expected the rolls to fill _four trays_ of muffin tins.

Whatever. The rolls would be baked before dinner regardless, and the loaves would take up less space.

He hoped.

\-----

_Less_ space, yes. He'd still somehow made enough for three loaves instead of the two the recipe indicated. What the hell.

\-----

The rolls were almost done when he heard the Jeep pull up outside. The door thumped shut and footsteps started making their way toward the porch as Derek finished up brushing the last few rolls with a sage-butter glaze. He wiped his hands clean as the feet reached the steps and bounded up them, was pulling the oven mitts back on when Stiles hit the door and hesitated (why?) before letting himself in.

The scrape of the muffin tins sliding back onto the oven racks almost covered the scuffing of shoes being toed off and sock-covered feet in the hall. (No hesitation now, not even as Stiles detoured by the main room to say hi before walking back across the hall to--)

He hadn't pulled his hand away from the oven door yet when Stiles plastered himself against Derek's back with a breathless "Oh my god, that smells amazing."

Derek snorted, pressing his elbow back until he had enough room to turn around. Leaned in and brushed his nose against Stiles'. "Thanks."

"No problem," Stiles snorted, then ducked in for a kiss. Grinned impishly when he pulled back. "So when can I have one?"

"Dinner," Derek replied, before realizing they hadn't actually talked about that. Hadn't talked about Stiles coming over that day at _all_. (Apparently some part of his brain just thought Stiles _lived there_ now. Belonged there, all the time.)

Not that it mattered. Stiles watched as he got the loaf pans lined up along the top of the oven where the vent would keep them warm. Lurked closer as the rolls came out of the oven and occupied far too much counter space. Had a plate in hand and two rolls dripping with extra butter by the time Derek looked up from finding someplace to put the last pan.

Whatever. He'd accidentally made forty-eight of them. They could spare two for a snack.

Derek focused on cleaning the kitchen, getting everything set back in its place and put to rights (or as close as possible). Stiles focused on making obscene noises over his rolls, sucking the remaining butter off his fingers, and basically being the opposite of helpful.

"I could swear you used to have a table in here," Stiles muttered around his last bite.

"We did," Derek snorted, glancing up just in time for Stiles to finish chewing and lick the pad of his thumb. Christ. "Jacob broke it."

That made Stiles pause, coming to a standstill halfway through shifting his weight forward to hop down off the counter he'd colonized, but only for a moment. Then he was shrugging and hopping down. Didn't need any prompting to rinse his plate off before putting it in the dishwasher.

But seriously. Flash of surprise, moment of calculation, acceptance and moving on. Who _did_ that? (Aside from his mate, apparently.)

"Was he playing or angry?" Stiles asked, bumping up against his side and watching as he finished wiping up the small sea of flour he'd needed.

"Excited," Derek explained, feeling a smile tugging at his face, broad enough to be almost human. "We haven't made the time yet to repair it. I think Dad and Peter were looking at it this morning to see if we could, or if we'd just need to make a new one, but--"

Stiles thumped his head into Derek's shoulder with a sudden rush of exasperation, disbelief--lust? "Oh my god, don't even. I can't handle thinking about you handling power tools."

He was blushing. He could _feel_ it. "It's mostly Mom and my uncles who do the furniture," he admitted, smiling when Stiles snorted. "I've re-painted the main room about four times, though, since I've been old enough to hold a roller."

And--bingo. Stiles slumped further, lifting his head just enough to smack it into Derek's shoulder again.

Apple-spice-musk.

Derek cleared his throat. Felt along the bonds until he found the one he wanted and pitched his voice in that direction. "Peter, I'm done with the kitchen. Could I get you to put the loaves in, when the timer goes off?"

Stiles had startled away from him when he started talking, looking around then glaring back at Derek when he realized they were still alone. From the backyard, Peter laughed, but "Sure. Leave the recipe out, so I know how long to leave them in."

"Werewolves," Derek reminded Stiles with a smirk, catching his hand and tugging him toward the stairs. "One of the advantages is that we can talk to each other from different rooms."

"Ha-hah," Stiles drawled as unenthusiastically as possible. He perked up when he saw where Derek was headed, though. Then promptly scowled, deflating. "I hate your stupid house full of stupid super powered family."

At some point, he really hoped Stiles got over that. "We need to talk. I thought you might like the semblance of privacy."

"It doesn't work so well when you point out the illusory nature of this so-called privacy," Stiles grumbled his way up the stairs. "Is there werewolf-grade sound proofing? We might need to look into that."

Derek wanted to grumble too, but that was mostly over having to actually _use the stairs_. It was so slow. "Illusory? Really?"

"It turns out SAT prep vocab doesn't actually leave you once the SATs are over."

Which-- Right. College. That was another thing they'd have to talk about. You'd think he'd stop forgetting these things eventually, but no.

Then Stiles was pushing his way into Derek's room, and he was realizing that this hadn't happened before. 

Stiles had been in his room, sure. But never when Derek was there. Never when Derek could watch him flop face down on his bed and groan like--

Fuck.

"Your bed is super comfy," Stiles sighed, only mostly audible around where his face was mashed into the blankets. "And totally bigger than Laura's. Why did we sleep in Laura's room? That made no sense."

"I don't remember," he admitted, closing the door behind him and walking toward (stalking) his bed. "Our memories can get a little fuzzy once the run starts."

Stiles rolled abruptly, twisting to grin up at Derek. "Do you remember the raccoon? 'Cause that was hysterical."

"I think so." Derek sat on the bed. Laid down and edged after Stiles when he squirmed away to make room. "Twenty feet away and not a bear?"

He wondered if Laura remembered. Too bad she was still at work, or he'd probably have an answer.

But Stiles was _there_ , laughing and smelling of happy and apples. "Yeah. So what did you want to talk about?"

College. Schools. When he was applying. _Where_ he was applying. What-- "Bond stuff," he started instead, smiling when Stiles groaned and flopped over on his back. "It's good news. For once."

"Yeah?" Stiles turned his head to give Derek a hopeful look.

"You're starting to bond to the pack, not just me." He curled closer. Listened as Stiles' pulse picked up a few extra beats. The bond was all shock and curiosity, but worry and a hesitant sort of joy were lingering at the edges. "Mom says it's developing early, but naturally. She's not worried about it, and she's the expert on _that_ kind of bond."

"But it's good? Even if it's early?"

He wasn't sure how to answer that. How to put into words what pack _was_. More than just family, more than the magic that connected them, more than the sum of their parts. 

Some of it must have communicated well enough without words because Stiles grinned. Lost that edge of worry.

"It's good," Derek confirmed anyway. "In part, it's that-- You accept us. You want to be part of the pack even with what you know about us. It wouldn't happen otherwise."

"I hadn't realized that was still in question," Stiles scoffed, rolling his eyes and-- _Christ_ \--pressing his face up against Derek's throat. "Dumbass."

It sounded a lot like 'I love you', so Derek didn't complain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tattoo Artist of the Week:** [Madame Chan](http://www.hublechat.org/) of Berlin (usually).
> 
> **Not-so important posting schedule update:** Currently, I post weekly on Mondays. I'm changing this, to posting weekly Sunday evening or Monday. This is mostly a change for my benefit, not yours, because most of you wouldn't notice or care if I posted Sunday evening, except to notice the notification showing up earlier than normal. My brain doesn't work like that. I actually can't post until it's Monday, currently, because my brain has a rule. I'm tired of that, so. Change the rule.
> 
> I'm sorry for the mild baking porn. When it comes to cooking, I'm first and foremost a baker. I'm not very good, but it's where I'm most comfortable and happiest. I'm afraid that's showing, lately. (I blame my new-since-August kitchen and how abysmally tiny and poorly laid out it is. I'm frustrated because it makes me dislike anything involved in the kitchen, and so I apparently take my frustrations out in text. Whoops.)
> 
> Hope you have a great week!


	61. Let me guess. It's about Stiles.

When Derek finally got around to asking whether or not Stiles _was_ staying for dinner, the resigned negation through the bond was all he really needed. He got a scrunched up nose, though, and a sigh. "I want to, but I'll have more time with you tomorrow. Dad's got mostly late shifts all week, and--"

"It's fine," Derek huffed, pushing Stiles away gently. "But if you need to get home--"

Stiles rolled with the push, flopping out of bed with a grumpy mutter that Derek didn't bother trying to decipher. He just stood there, though, fingers toying with the hem of his overshirt as Derek slid out of bed and to his feet.

"Trade you shirts?" Stiles offered with a grin.

\-----

Stiles took the shirt Derek was wearing _and_ six rolls. Four to share with his dad for dinner, two for the ride home. That was the thought, anyway.

"Dude," Stiles came to a stop next to the Jeep, glowering at his empty hand as though it had betrayed him somehow. "What did you make these with, crack? I can't feed my dad heroin biscuits, Derek. That would be wrong."

"They aren't biscuits," he corrected, reflexive, then rolled his eyes when Stiles just stared pointedly at him. "And there aren't made with _drugs_ , just potato."

"I think that might count," Stiles mused, then popped open the driver's side door and quickly shoved the bag of rolls back behind his seat, where he wouldn't be able to get at them while driving. "So--tomorrow. Doing the Halloween thing. Should I come here, or..?"

"We're going to take Matt and the terrors downtown for the store to store trick or treating thing," Derek explained, leaning his hip against the Jeep and leaning in to get a better whiff of Stiles. Of his scent, still fresh on the shirt, mixing in with Stiles'.

"So I should meet you downtown?" Stiles asked, a grin spreading over his face and _want_ singing in the bond. He pushed the driver's side door closed again and leaned against it, mirroring Derek's posture with a smirk.

"Yeah." And to hell with it. Stiles knew what he was. Seemed to revel in it, sometimes. Derek leaned in and pressed his nose against the base of Stiles' neck, just above the collar of the shirt ( _his_ shirt) and did some reveling of his own.

"I'll text when I'm out of class," Stiles sighed, digging his fingers into Derek's hair and keeping him close. "You can give me the specifics then."

Stiles really did need to get home. They knew that. All the same, he didn't leave until Niq drove up and leaned out her window to harass them about getting a room.

\-----

He tried to help with dinner. Tried to keep busy, so he wouldn't have too much time to _think_. Peter shooed him out with a growl that was-- _mostly_ not serious. (But it was, a little, so he went.)

He tracked his mother down in the shed. There wasn't enough time to actually do much about the table, even with dinner running late to give Vic time to finish her shift and fetch Cara on the way over, but they could get things set up for the real work. So he fetched piece after piece of wood from the careful stacks against the back wall, looking for the right shades of honey-gold and the right sweet-sharp scent to match the broken boards. Watched his mother switch back and forth between red eyes and brown as she examined the options he brought her. Held some of them up against the table and muttered about colors and variations he couldn't see. Tossed most of them aside.

Taking rejected offerings and new tribute back and forth wasn't tasking enough to keep his brain still, keep him from scrabbling after memories of what Danielle had been doing the year before, wondering what Stiles was planning, what he had left to do, why he hadn't--

(And whenever his brain started tying itself in knots, his mother was there, hand light on the back of his neck and not saying anything. Just letting her touch pull at the lines in his head until they were looser, at least, if not flat and straight and predictable.)

It helped.

Until he tripped over the shop vac.

\-----

They started stripping before they even made it into the mudroom. Derek shouldered free of his shirt and shook it out, but his mom left a trail of clothes from one door to the next, pointedly ignoring the rain of sawdust she left in her wake.

"I am showering before dinner," she announced to the house in general as she stalked through the inner door, "and nobody is going to try and stop me."

Derek snapped his shirt one last time, kicking the outside door closed as he did. (His mother's presence in the pack-bonds felt _itchy_ , like she desperately needed to shake out the fur she wasn't wearing.)

She'd already bypassed the first flight of stairs by the time he made it inside and kicked the inner door closed. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of Tania and Peter in the kitchen doorway, Tania resolutely forcing her mate back into the kitchen, toward the stove ( _away_ from his cranky sister, almost certainly for the best).

With her shoulder, because she had Greg balanced against her hip, laughing like they were playing the greatest game _ever_.

Peter warbled plaintively as Maria landed safely on the third floor and started padding her way down the hall toward her usual bathroom. Matt snorted from _somewhere_ in the kitchen (almost hiding the thwack of Tania replying to Peter), and all three of the terrors were badly stifling the giggles.

Did they _have_ a folding table? All four kids sounded like they were settled in at the kitchen table (still in the shed, Derek had good reason to know), and they had folding _chairs_ \--

It didn't matter. Vic and Cara were in the main room, a bright-happy counterpoint to the itchy-argh of his mother grumbling to herself in the shower, along with Paul and Niq and Erin, and he felt _gritty_. (Even if the mess had mostly missed him.)

He wiped down in the downstairs bathroom, washed his hands, pulled a spare shirt on over his head (Paul's, by the smell, but he could find Laura and Peter and Tania and his dad in it as well).

Everyone was still in the main room when he finished, Vic curled up on the couch with Cara and smelling of bleach-rubber-rosemary-ink so strongly they couldn't have been home long. Cara was spread comfortably over most of the couch, feet jammed between the cushion and the arm, head propped on Vic's collarbone. The back of her shirt had rucked up just enough to expose the edge of her iron fence and Derek didn't bother biting back a proud-pleased rumble at the sight of it.

He'd wiggled in between Vic and her arm of the couch before he really processed Paul and Niq on the other couch, and he was too busy trying to figure out what the hell Niq was doing folded over with her head resting on the floor poking _something_ around under their couch to entirely notice the way Vic mock-huffed at him as she pulled her arm up to hook around his shoulders and tug him in snug against her side. 

Paul was placidly cradling Erin in one arm and holding onto Niq's hips with the other so she wouldn't roll off the couch and into the coffee table. (Derek didn't think he'd be able to pull off 'placid' if he had the kind of view of Stiles that Paul had of _his_ mate right then, but he supposed seven years of exposure would do that.)

Derek stared some more. Felt the deep curl of Paul's amusement, Niq's frustration, Cara's almost-bliss--and past the comforting thud of the heartbeats he'd known for years, the tiny heartbeat _on_ the couch, there were also two tiny heartbeats _under_ it.

Kittens. Suddenly his life made a little more sense.

Niq twisted, trying to jam her arm further under the couch, and Paul had to lurch forward to keep his grip, prompting a faint, squeaky protest from Erin. Pulled Niq back despite her grumpy human growl. 

Vic successfully smothered a laugh, kept it low enough that only Derek (and Paul, and Cara since she was pretty much lying _on_ Vic) heard, and the sheer familiarity pulled the words out of his mouth. "I was wondering--"

"Let me guess," Vic cut him off with a sigh, not sounding nearly as put-upon as she probably meant to. "It's about Stiles."

He chuffed irritation at her, and at Cara's amused snort. (He ignored Paul. Paul's mate was flailing around under the couch, he had _no leg_ to judge Derek from.) "Okay, _yes_ , about Stiles. About Cara too, though."

Cara stopped staring at Niq's upside-down hips and falling-up shirt and the way she kept twisting into Paul's grip and sat up, getting her knees under her so she could lean over Vic and poke at Derek's head, making him hunch away and growl. "Ooh. Is it good? Did you buy me that _awesome_ shading rig we were looking at? What is it?"

(His family. What even.)

"Okay, babe," Vic laughed and twisted so she could grab Cara's hand with her free one, the other still hooked around Derek's shoulder. "We get it. But maybe we should start with Stiles."

Cara pouted and grumbled "Spoilsport," before flopping dramatically back against Vic's shoulder and set to staring at Derek like she could pull the information out of him with the sheer force of her brain. (Considering his mate, maybe he shouldn't discount that as an option.)

Derek paused, waiting until Cara pushed her eyes open extra wide in impatience before saying anything. "He does...just, these _really_ obvious things, when we're talking about werewolf stuff. Turning around to see if there's anyone close enough to hear us, or hunching over and lowering his voice, and it's just--"

A sudden movement from the other couch distracted him, cut him off mid-stream as he turned to see Niq overbalance with an alarmed squeak. Watch as Paul leaned, dropping his mate's hip in favor of getting a firmer grip around one thigh.

The far thigh, so Niq ended up twisting and flailing a bit as Paul helped her to the floor, slowly and _away_ from the coffee table.

Erin started crying and the kittens darted out the other side of the couch, skittered from the room before he could figure out which ones they even _were_. (Their scents were _everywhere_ now, too alike to pick out most of the time. He was pretty sure Patch wasn't involved, since there'd been no flash of white, but--) 

From her spot on the floor, Niq kicked ineffectually at her mate's shin before standing up and brushing herself off, leaning down to press soothing words into Erin's hair. It made the baby calm down a little, though she was still fussing.

A puff of air against his ear made Derek startle, twisting and straightening so he could glare at Vic, who just smirked back, radiating smug amusement. "You want me to give your lovebird situational awareness pointers? I'd ask why you don't just do it yourself, but--"

Cara laughed herself off Vic's shoulder and into her lap, curling up around her stomach and gasping with it. 

"Even aside from that," Derek ground out, slumping back against Vic with a carefully gentle elbow to her ribs. "He's human. I'm guessing it's different when you can't hear a heartbeat at twenty paces."

Cara barked another laugh, scent exploding momentarily green, and he could feel Vic's 'okay, fair point' expression through her arm, even as she squeezed his shoulder. From the other couch, Niq huffed a laugh as she picked Erin up from Paul. Handed the baby back once she'd gotten herself arranged across her mate's lap, which--in his life, that's just what you did with a fussy baby. Held it close to its parents, its alpha, as many pack members as possible.

He wondered what humans did.

"You also wouldn't have the faintest clue how to use the werewolves around you as a barometer," Vic admitted, and--what? "Sure. We can have that talk. Anything else, or are you going to put Cara out of her misery?"

Actually, he wanted her to go back to the barometer thing, but-- "Has he talked to you two about schools at all?"

Silence. Long and pointed enough that he felt like he was a cub again. Had gotten caught clawing the walls. He curled smaller, turning his face into Vic's armpit, hiding.

"Yes, Der," Vic explained patiently, squeezing his shoulder again. "Stiles has talked to us about schools."

"We both wrote him letters of recommendation," Cara added, amusement spiking her scent until it was sharp enough to be annoying. "He's pretty new to art, so he doesn't have a lot of other people to ask. I think he got at least one from an art teacher at the high school, though, and I know he got one from Tony."

"Tony would know more than us," Vic said while Derek was still staring blankly into her shirt, trying to process all of that. "He's been talking to Tony more about the different types of schools and programs and stuff, since Tony has a more robust background where that's concerned. Me and Cara have been more about the practical side of things."

"Reminding him to poke at biology and medical stuff and business classes for electives," Cara agreed. "And to feel out the school's art program to see how snobby they are, since the last thing he needs is to be stuck with an entire faculty that think tattoos don't 'qualify' as art," she added, somehow managing to make even her air quotes look sarcastic and bitter. (But if anyone he knew had reason, it was Cara.)

"When did all this start?" Derek asked, hating how plaintive and _lost_ he sounded. (But how had this much happened without him hearing about it? He knew Stiles spent time at Tinge when he wasn't there, but--)

"Over the summer," Vic patted his head, radiating amused sympathy. "Before you two were a thing."

"Spring," Cara corrected, all amusement. "He started asking about what kind of training and education some hypothetical person would need to be a tattoo artist way back before Dani graduated." She twisted and stretched, grabbing his hand to squeeze. "He was trying really hard not to be obvious about it. I mean, he failed miserably, but." She shrugged, sliding more to the sympathy side of the scale. "I think he was just really nervous. And if you haven't talked about it much since then--"

He might still be, with Derek. Which--made sense. But.

Argh.

Then Cara was poking him again. On the top of the head, since he was still kind of hiding in Vic's armpit. "So is that it about Stiles? What about _me_?" she demanded.

He lifted his head enough to look at her and just stared. Let her feel the weight of his curiosity, his interest, (felt Paul perk up and go still like the topic was particularly tasty and oblivious prey) until she was blushing and hiding _her_ face in Vic's shoulder. "Oh my g _ooooood_."

"Jerk," Vic thwapped him. "We haven't even talked to Maria yet."

"Gonna tonight, though," Cara confirmed, still blushing but lifting her head and meeting his stare head on. "Our lease is up in January, but we could break it or just keep the apartment until then. We're thinking we'll move in here end of November, though. Uh, if that's okay. And I'll take some extra personal time around the holidays, so--"

It was good timing, if his mom agreed. If Cara was bound into the pack enough to pull on them if she needed extra help adapting.

"You realize you're going to drop a lot of weight, right?" Tania asked from the doorway, dropping a cardigan on her usual armchair as she walked in. "Better think up an explanation for that."

"There is no keeping secrets in this family," Vic moaned, but she was smiling. So was Cara, though she'd dropped her face back into Vic's shoulder.

The rest of the family was circling closer. Pulled in by the thrum of happy-relief-welcome Derek could feel vibrating between all of them, reaching out for Cara as hard as they could.

Because if Cara took the bite, then Vic would finally be able to come _home_.

(He didn't think the bite would fix Cara. Didn't think there was anything _to_ fix, except the quiet killers that stalked her family tree. And really, they all knew she was just trading those for ones she could potentially see coming. Hunters for cancer. Omegas for heart disease. Public exposure for Huntington's, even though she'd been screened and _shouldn't_ be-- She'd still have plenty to be afraid of, plenty to worry about. It would just be fears and worries better met with a secluded house in the woods than proximity to medical attention, that was all.)

\-----

Dinner turned into a celebration. Everyone descended on the main room with plates so they could pile around Cara and Vic and pester them with thoughts and advice until Vic looked like she was ready to take someone's head off. Gwen was practically vibrating.

Derek let Laura take his spot next to Vic so she could flop over both of them whenever there weren't plates in the way and rub her face against Cara's hip. Moved off the arm of the couch so the terrors could perch there when they were done eating. Let himself get pushed to the edges.

Shared a sly grin with his grandmother, because sometimes the edges just meant you had the best view, and she knew that. 

His mother eventually rescued Cara and Vic, sweeping them off to the study to talk in faux-privacy, and Derek wondered what they were going to tell Tony when they had to change the schedule to make sure Cara wasn't alone for a while. When Cara had to take most of a month off. 

\-----

Derek got ready for sleep, helped get Jacob ready for sleep, helped Matt find a missing kitten (Patch, in the study, because she was so his mother's cat) then made sure _he_ got ready for sleep.

(At least he didn't get elbowed out of his own bathroom again.)

Eventually, he crawled into his own bed, nothing left to do, and did his best to block out the rest of the house. It--wasn't that hard. Derek had shoved the shirt Stiles had left him under the covers, earlier. His bed was _soaked_ in earth-spice-Stiles.

He didn't really sleep, couldn't make his brain turn off, but Stiles' scent let him lie there for most of the night, resting as much as he could with memories of orange and green lighting up his brain every time he rolled over, adjusted a pillow, squirmed down until the covers hid his nose.

A little after midnight, he heard his father stirring. Felt the tug of his mother trotting toward home. Done with her half of the patrol.

"I've got it, Dad," he sighed, sliding out of bed and carefully flipping the covers back into place. Keeping the scent of Stiles (of _them_ ) for as long as he could. "Not sleeping anyway."

And the run would be good for him.

\-----

He didn't come home until breakfast was nearly over. Ran until the birds had started to settle down and a human could see without any help.

Matt had his Batman outfit on already. Jacob was wearing his shiny silver shirt and pants, but Stacia was not in her Lilo dress. She was in jeans and a Batman t-shirt, a headband with cat ears, and had cat whiskers drawn on her face (he wasn't asking, but he did wonder about the shirt. If that was somebody's suggestion or her own idea).

It was probably just as well, though, because he could hear Peter in the main room with Gwen, his voice quiet but firm over her shouting. (Quiet and firm but _calm_ , not distressed. Just a tantrum, not a fit. Or at least, not the kind with claws and flashing eyes.)

"C'mon, kiddos," Niq shooed Jacob and Stacia out, offering Derek a tired wink on her way. "We need to get you to school."

Which--weird. Niq hardly ever drove to town early enough to take the kids. But Stacia's hunched shoulders and soft whine were reminder enough.

Right. Parent-teacher meeting. Niq was probably going to set that up.

Paul groaned and shot up out of his seat a few moments later, snatching up Niq's purse from where it had gotten shoved behind the toaster and ran out to catch her. He didn't come back, though. Derek could hear his steps heading away from the house instead, going to the shed. Which--he _had_ to know was still full of saw-dust covered misery, so Derek refused to feel too guilty over.

Gwen's voice went quiet as Niq's car started up, and Tania headed into the main room. Suggested that if Gwen wanted to be helpful, she could wake Laura up. _That_ perked Gwen right up, resulted in scampering feet and a rumbling growl from upstairs that managed to be both heartfelt and resigned.

Tania was a genius. An _evil_ genius.

(Did that make her Jumba? Would that make Peter Pleakly? Only no, because Peter was _also_ a genius, because only a genius would have thought to make breakfast sandwiches out of the leftover rolls.)

(And shit. They were almost out of rolls. _How?_ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Link of the week:** Let's talk about rolls. [This recipe](http://www.howsweeteats.com/2011/11/buttery-cloverleaf-rolls/) isn't far off from the one I had in mind while writing (which is a family recipe that is not from my family, so I can't just share it outright), only it's not a potato bread. I can vouch for that baking technique but not the dough itself, even though it does look very similar to what I'm used to.
> 
> I know there was also interest in the cinnamon roll recipe, but alas? I can't find my once-favorite recipe for no-yeast cinnamon rolls. So have the two recipes I tend to reach for when I have the time to make a full on yeasty version. These recipies are from two of my favorite food blogs, [Smitten Kitchen](http://smittenkitchen.com/blog/2009/04/cinnamon-swirl-buns-so-much-news/) and [101 Cookbooks](http://www.101cookbooks.com/archives/cinnamon-buns-recipe.html). I've never had a recipe from either of these sites fail me. Not once. Not if I actually followed it.
> 
>  **Also, please note that this story is going on hiatus from February 18th until March 31st.** This means I'll post another chapter next Sunday/Monday, and then will be gone for about a month. I'll make note of this again next week as well.


	62. Not that it stopped him from wishing

Derek could have made more rolls. He could have gone to help Paul in the shed, or sat with his dad while they made Gwen spell words and solve math problems. 

He _meant_ to do one of those things, just couldn't decide which. Ended up hovering at midpoints and thresholds until someone came along and pushed him toward the stairs, toward a couch.

Then he was waking up, face smashed into the couch cushions, when Gwen ran into the mudroom, laughing like a fiend.

"I win! I beat you! I beat you! Can we dress up now?"

Laura and their mother's laughter wasn't far behind and Derek pushed himself up enough to look around for a clock. Promptly dropped himself back into the cushions, groaning. 

Three hours was _really_ not enough.

But the other terrors would be home soon and there would be _no_ peace after that, so he pushed himself up.

\-----

"I still can't believe you actually did the tattoo, you utter doofus."

"I can't believe you left it crooked," Derek sniped back, twisting his arm to glare at where the lines _didn't_ meet.

Laura sniffed, pointing her nose up like she was some sort of purse dog. "Whatever. It'll wash off, right?"

It would, but. _But_. "I'm telling Stiles this is your fault."

Downstairs, their parents were laughing at them. Which was just--typical. (The babies were laughing too, but that was probably just because the adults watching them were laughing.)

"Accepted," Laura said with a shrug, bracing herself idly as Gwen barrelled into her room and collided with her hip, spare arms flopping up in a semblance of a hug.

"Lauraaaaa. Do my face? Please?"

"We've gotta pin your hair back first, kiddo," Laura laughed, hoisting Gwen up and tossing a grin over her shoulder as she walked out. "Speaking of hair. What are you doing about yours?"

Crap. He hadn't thought about that.

\-----

His hair would _not_ lie flat. He knew that already. Had known before he tried. Watched his stupid, obnoxious cowlicks push everything up in weird directions and growled at his reflection.

Down the hall, he heard Gwen howl happily before taking off, socked feet thumping down the hall as a car approached the drive. Laura didn't-swear and took off after her. "Gwen! Honey! I need to do an eye still!"

His fate could be worse.

"Her face will still be there in a few minutes, Laura," Olivia pointed out from the porch, sounding like she was half a breath away from laughing. "Calm down."

"But things will _dry_ by then!"

He _could_ be the family go-to for face painting.

\-----

It was a good thing Stacia wasn't staying a Batman obsessed cat for the evening, because her whiskers ended up smeared against Gwen's shoulder. (Hopefully that would come out of Gwen's costume, but-- Well, if not, they could always just add more. Stitch wasn't exactly known for his fastidious nature.)

"Laura," Jacob whined, running over to the porch and tugging at the bottom of her shorts. "Laura! Can you do my face too?"

"Sure," she offered, crouching down with a grin. "What do you want?"

"I'm a Martian," he informed her, slightly scornful. 

"So...green?"

"Purple!"

"Ahunh."

Niq was laughing under her breath as she finally nudged Gwen and Stacia far enough away from the rear doors to get her bag out. And--a bag from the drugstore? "I brought reinforcements," she chirped, tossing a grin Laura's way when she gave the bag a suspicious glare.

"I didn't know you took today off," Derek cut in, hoping to distract them before things could get too tense. (He was too tired to mediate one of Laura and Niq's rare but epic snits.

Niq shrugged, walking toward the house as if she wasn't wearing vicious looking heels. "I knew it was a short day for the kids, and I didn't have any appointments today. I figured I might as well come help with the stuff you two aren't as good at." She tossed a more sincere smile back his way just before she got to the stairs. "Benefits of being my own boss."

"What aren't we good at?" Laura asked, abruptly baffled instead of defensive.

With a sunny smile, Niq disappeared inside. "Prepare to grovel, children."

Then, "Derek, hurry up. You're first."

...great.

\-----

It was easy to forget the way Niq changed. How her hair was fluffy and riotous weekend mornings, but all neat curls or smoothly wrapped into a bun when she went to work. She always smelled of cosmetic sections--even if she _had_ laid off the more aggressive perfumes in deference to delicate wolfy noses (her words)--powder, metal, resin, plastic, and aerosols.

That was just Niq. Highly changeable in everything she was and did.

Apparently, this was Niq too. Her fingertips sliding over his scalp and laying a part with just her nails, so she could smooth some sort of vaguely fake-citrus-y gunk along the roots as she went.

"Styling wax," she told him, pressing a particularly stubborn twist of hair down with a goop-smeared hand. "I'll get the part set, then you smooth a bit more over the rest like I showed you. Since you just need it down flat, that should be all you need."

"Got it," he offered with a grimace, carefully not nodding. Niq didn't have claws, but her nails were strong and he didn't want to get scratched.

Jacob started cheering down the hall, and judging by the gloating about purple it was finally his turn for makeup. Gwen did her best Stitch-growl, and a crash suggested she'd been up on the counter in the bathroom they were using.

(No bet on whether it was because of makeup related reasons or because Gwen was getting a little too into character. No bets on whether or not Laura was going to mess up Jacob's face because she had to go pry Gwen out of something either.)

Niq and Derek both winced as something _else_ crashed and Jacob crowed, which was around the time Stacia pattered into their bathroom. She was already in her dress, which sounded like it was brushing fabric underneath, not skin (good. The last thing they needed was a shivering and miserable cub), and her hair was--

Well, she looked more like her mom did on days off than her normal rambunctious-but-more-or-less-neat curls. (...Right. Cat ears on a headband. She'd probably been fiddling with those all day.)

It made her look _remarkably_ like her mother when she squinted up at them. (He was not going to offer Stacia coffee, no matter how much his brain was convinced that was the appropriate response to that look.)

After a few seconds of watching her mom finish up with Derek's part and run sticky fingers over a few still-lively clumps (because his hair refused to bow to authority, crowed a voice that sounded like Stiles' in his head, and _what even_ ), Stacia started bouncing on her toes, dress rustling. "Moooom, are you gonna do my hair too?"

"Sure am sweetie," Niq grinned down at her daughter as she finally (finally!) pulled them away from Derek's head. Only then she was rubbing her palms together and wiping them over his hair _again_ , pressing out from the part like she'd done earlier, when she was showing him how much to use. (When she was threatening him if he used too much.) "Just let me clean my hands off."

"I'm not a towel," Derek mock-grumbled, moving out of the way as Niq went for the sink.

"Keep telling yourself that."

"Moooooom," Stacia pleaded, plastering herself against Niq's hip.

"We aren't gonna be in here anyway, silly," Niq chided, bumping her daughter lightly. "Derek needs the mirror more than us. Out, out!"

Gwen came screaming down the hall, still missing an eye-circle and with Matt laughing behind her, eyes darkened behind his mask, and Derek was _so_ glad he was allowed to shut the door and ignore them all for a bit.

\-----

A few minutes later, his hair was mostly flat and the hallways sounded clear. Niq had Stacia in her and Paul's room, Laura had Jacob in the kids' bathroom, and Matt was keeping Gwen occupied with some sort of complex in-character game of tag that involved the entire downstairs and never ever touching each other or any furniture (he didn't even try to understand), so Derek took the opportunity to get dressed. 

Or. Well.

His costume was board shorts, a necklace he'd borrowed from Tania, a pair of flip flops, and an oversized, obnoxious towel. Because a human would need something to huddle in. 

Getting _un_ dressed was probably slightly more accurate.

(He didn't bother stripping out of his boxer briefs before putting on the shorts. He trusted Laura not to pull his shorts off as a joke, but not the universe.)

\-----

Stacia's hair was nearly flat (or, well, half of it was) by the time he finished changing, pried himself out of bed (which he hadn't even meant to get into, it was just _right there_ ), and poked his nose in to check on them. It sounded like Gwen and Jacob had changed places, too. (Laura was probably doing that eye spot, or whatever re-doing needed doing and--he'd lost track of his words.)

Niq was still patiently working her way through the other half of Stacia's hair with a spray bottle and some sort of torture device that was probably hot (he couldn't smell _anything_ anymore, his nose totally overwhelmed, but the cosmetics-scent in Niq's room smelled a little like it was melting, so--).

What even.

It was even more impressive when she was done with Stacia. They left the room just in time for Gwen to be released (and there had to be a story behind the blue flakes clinging to her costume and the faint twitch in Laura's eye as she appeared in the doorway). Stacia tore off after Gwen and Niq did that thing where she loomed over someone even though she was _tiny_ , then backed Laura back into the kids' bathroom and closed the door.

He wasn't asking.

Something heavy fell over downstairs, and he winced at the "whoops" that followed, too soft to make out which kid said it. (They felt clustered together, regardless, so he doubted whatever it was was a solo effort.)

It wasn't as bad as he'd thought. They'd just knocked a couch over (only a problem if Matt or Stacia was in the way) and Paul was already there (apparently sawdust free, but Derek didn't think he'd be able to smell _fresh_ pine right then--he really needed to get outside for a bit) pushing it back into place.

Two circuits of the downstairs and a lot of happy growling later, Niq and Laura came down to join them. Laura finally changed into her own costume and--her hair. 

Laura's hair was always straight, but now it was also smooth and shiny and Laura was clutching a bottle of something like she'd found the holy grail. Even with the mismatched skin tones, Laura and Stacia suddenly looked like sisters.

Niq was _magic_ , what the hell.

As they ran back toward the mudroom again, Derek heard Laura use the words 'spray tan' and he was out the back door, taking Jacob and Gwen with him for a quick loop around the yards.

Niq would talk her out of that. He hoped. He hadn't seen any in the bag she'd unloaded, at least. That had to be a good sign.

\-----

"I can't believe your hair's all...flat looking," Laura muttered, poking him in the forehead before circling around to get in the driver's seat. Of Peter's minivan, because they had four kids to fit in the back and just...no.

"I can't believe your hair's behaving either," he said agreeably, smiling back at her when she growled.

Whatever. She'd started it.

"Can we _go_?" Jacob whined, making the rest of the kids laugh.

The car smelled powdery and metallic and greasy, but all four kids were gleeful and happy, so he wasn't going to complain.

\-----

Their first stop was Tinge, because they always started with Tinge.

"Oh, god, you're _adorable_ ," Cara gushed, laughing and running around the counter to sweep Stacia up in a hug, fairy wings and antennae headband bopping merrily along with her.

Derek snorted and walked over to the consult Cara had just abandoned, offering him a friendly smile. "Sorry. We're family."

Thankfully the guy just laughed and waved it off, leaning over to offer Matt a fistbump and show off the Batman sigil he had tattooed on his inner arm. 

Some of the buzz from the back paused with a soft murmur, then Vic was yelling up toward the front, "You guys are _staying_ until my client takes a break, do you hear me?"

"They're gonna have to come back later anyway," Cara called, detaching from her slightly more cautious hug of Gwen. "There's no Stiles yet!"

Tony wasn't very loud, but was apparently laughing hard enough he had to turn off his machine until he got himself under control.

(It didn't matter. Vic's client said she'd take a break if Vic would let her get up and see the kids. That involved her holding her shirt up over her chest to keep her from flashing anyone, because Vic was inking a cornucopia around the curve of her right shoulder blade, but the cooing and laughter made her smell less like pain, so that was okay.)

\-----

He'd almost forgotten his reasons for his usual costume, the greaser get up that was just a variation on what he always wore and a different way of getting his cowlicks to look intentional.

Stepping into a salon (he couldn't remember the name, hadn't looked at the window, but he knew Vic and Cara used it sometimes, since it was just a block from work. Knew that Niq would glare at them over it if she found out because she had a grudge against it he didn't understand), he remembered. For the first time all night, Derek didn't have to _pretend_ to shiver. Pulled his towel tighter around his shoulders and kept his attention firmly on the kids reciting their ritual phrase for the woman at the counter. Ignored the attention he could almost _feel_ crawling over his exposed skin.

He was going to _kill_ Laura.

\-----

_Fredom! Where @?_

Derek shot a glance down the street, counting shops between them and the next intersection. With the time it'd take Stiles to actually _get_ there--

_3rd & Howe_

\-----

They ended up waiting, getting three tiny hot chocolates and a cider along with their candy tribute from the tiny cafe at the corner. (Howe You Like It, and Derek hated that their sandwiches were so good, that they usually weren't too busy since they were cash only. He always felt like he was approving their horrible name choices when he bought something.)

The drinks disappeared fast, but the promise of Stiles miraculously kept the kids from getting too antsy. Jacob and Gwen were sitting on the curb, tucked relatively safely between a parked car and the corner with their heads bent together, talking softly enough that Derek would have to focus to hear them over the traffic on the street and the sidewalk. Stacia was pressed up against Laura's hip, the steady bounce of her heels the only real sign she wasn't entirely content to wait.

Matt had actually found friends from class, though they'd started to move on.

"Not much longer," he muttered, stepping closer to Laura and running his hand lightly (and cautiously, since he had no idea what was _in_ it) over Stacia's hair. "He's--"

There was a spike of happy across the bond, then a bludgeon of _want_.

Suddenly, the itching sensation of someone staring at him wasn't _nearly_ do irritating.

"Everything's beautiful and nothing hurts," Laura crowed, watching him instead of looking for Stiles.

(Derek could feel himself blushing. Hated it. Wanted to hide. _With_ Stiles, because without him there was just no point.)

He didn't need to turn and look. Knew exactly where Stiles was, even before Laura sidled over to bump her hip against Matt. "Hey, Batman," she grinned, jerking her head in Stiles' direction. "Citizen in distress."

Matt scampered off gamely enough, and Derek finally turned. Watched Stiles drag his attention down to grin at Matt, crouching down and making a big deal out of his costume, and--

Holy shit, those pants.

Gwen and Jacob were making their way back to the knot of their family, now that movement seemed imminent. From the corner of his eye, he could see them both scrunching their noses up at him. Sniffing too obviously for public, and--

And he had to keep going store to store with his tiny packmates and _Stiles_. Looking like _that_. And he'd be close enough to _smell_ soon, and--

Laura was beaming. Had her phone out and was taking his picture, fake-shutter sound even more evil than usual.

Because (how could he have forgotten?) he'd be doing all of that with _Laura_ around too.

He was doomed.

Stiles and Matt were making their way over, though, and Derek couldn't regret his doom all that much, really. Not when Stiles was in head to toe black and too-tight and managing to pull it off.

It was the empty scabbard at his hip that clued him in, though. And the scrap of fabric tied to it.

"This isn't a civilian," Matt informed Laura, too serious by half. "He says he's a pirate."

"Not a ninja?" Laura asked, squinting at Stiles like he was making even less sense than normal. (Not that that stopped her from snapping a quick picture of him and Matt before slipping her phone back into her pocket, which--he was still impressed by, because the shorts didn't look _long_ enough to have pockets it would fit in. And yet.)

Stiles rolled his eyes but didn't say anything. Glanced at Derek and grinned when he did.

"He's the Dread Pirate Roberts," Derek filled in, gratified when Stiles went from grinning to _beaming_. "Come on, Laura. Tania always used to watch that movie when she was sick."

"Wait, was that the kissing movie?" she asked, only half joking. "The one with hardly any actual kissing in it."

"You're weird," Gwen huffed at them before squirming her way between Stiles and Derek and getting Stiles' hand in one of her little blue-gloved paws and tugging him (gently, so obviously gently) toward the next store. "Let's goooooo."

\-----

They'd done a full block, were getting ready to cross the street and start the loop back, when Stiles leaned over. Breathed against Derek's ear, "Dude. Your tattoo's crooked."

Derek grit his teeth. Ignored Laura's sudden inexplicable fit of giggles. "Laura helped."

"That explains so much."

\-----

They finished the loop, came back to Tinge where the kids all got a second candy and Vic laughed herself into a stitch in her side (not Gwen) before shoving an Almond Joy and two Snickers at Stiles, proclaiming breathlessly that he'd earned it and not letting him give her the candy back.

He gave Derek the Almond Joy, because he was a freak who didn't like coconut.

Then Laura stuffed all seven of them in the minivan, putting the three terrors in the far back, Derek in the middle seat with Stiles and Matt up front because superheroes got priority seating (whatever that meant). Didn't let Stiles argue his way out of the side trip with petty details like where he'd parked his Jeep.

She drove them all to the sheriff's department, and Stiles was laughing and delighted, running ahead with Gwen and Matt, turning to grin at the rest of them as they made their way in, up to the doors, and--

And he'd _forgotten_. Wasn't thinking about it as the same building, anymore. It was just where Stiles' dad worked. He'd forgotten, up until he passed the doors and the station smelled mostly the same.

Industrial cleaners, fear, distress, paper, copier toner, coffee, the nagging hint of patchouli from her soap, the cloying-sweet of her perfume--

No, _no_ , it was wrong. He couldn't smell her. The sweet-perfume was too floral, coming from the deputy at the counter. The patchouli was mixed with frankincense (he thought--it was so hard to pick it out, so much _else_ in the air) and not muddled with any fats. Perfume, not soap.

Kate wasn't there.

The deputy behind the counter was, though, and she was eying him. Not the way the people on the street and in the salon had, but like he might need help.

He didn't need Laura's fingers digging into his arm hard enough to bruise to realize the problem he was causing, but it helped. Helped him breathe in slowly and try to ignore what his nose was telling him. Focus on the bruises as they bloomed and tried to fade. (And thank goodness they were under the towel, because he was pretty positive that would be caught on film, otherwise.)

Stiles was gone, but that was fine. He was just down the hall, probably let past the counter so he could go get his dad. (He felt like an alarmed realization and guilt which was not fine. Not at all.) 

Derek forced a smile for the deputy. Made his shoulders relax, even though his gut felt like it was tangled up in fishing line.

He was already inside. No point in leaving now.

Jacob whined, fretful and high pitched but human enough to pass, at least. Gwen's eyes looked off, though. Too light, too gold, and that--

Then Stiles was back, eyes flicking over Derek, lingering and worried. And John was there, eyes cutting over Derek then--away, beaming at the kids as he grabbed the station's candy bowl and crouched down to go through it with them.

It was that more than anything that let Derek push his elbow into Laura's side. Let him hiss, "How are you not getting a picture of this?"

Let him act like some approximation of normal. Let him not be the center of attention. Let Laura get her damn phone out again and focus on the kids and the sheriff. 

Stiles didn't exactly relax, but he moved over to Derek's side and leaned against him. 

He didn't ask, and Derek was grateful. If he didn't think about it, he could focus on Matt explaining to John why Batman was the best superhero, even better than Iron Man. Focus on the terrors explaining how Stitch and the Martian had become friends (which--what? Since when did their costumes have _backstories_?) and the very serious discussion of what kinds of candy were the best, and whether or not it was okay if Stacia got to have three Jolly Ranchers, since they were so small.

The smell still made him feel sick, but it was--better. So long as he could focus on what was happening _right then_ , it was better.

He focused on breathing, on not rubbing the sweat off his palms, on what his family was talking about.

It wasn't too long before they left. It was okay.

\-----

"Hadn't been expecting _that_ ," Laura announced cheerfully as she unlocked the van. Before he could growl at her, she plowed on, "Your dad is seriously adorable with kids. Like, it's toxic. It's _horrible_ and not to be allowed, except for always."

Alright. So maybe he'd let her live.

"Dude, your family tried to bribe him into liking them with a beer and a _baby_ when we came over for dinner," Stiles scoffed, rolling his eyes as he helped Jacob up into the vehicle. "If you hadn't already figured out that he likes kids..."

"I want to be a sheriff next year," Gwen announced, lifting her arms up and giving Derek a pleading look, asking to be put in the car even though she didn't need it. Had a lot more flexibility in her Stitch-suit than Jacob had with his spaceman getup. "Can I be sheriff of the 'Vengers?"

Stacia clambered into the minivan herself, chuffing annoyance when Laura tried to reach over and help her. 

(And it was good. The van was good. Smelled like home and family and pack and Halloween _insanity_ strong enough that he could ignore the lingering traces of the station. Could let himself relax into the ridiculousness of his family.)

"That'd be Coulson, I guess," Stiles offered slowly, like he was still thinking about it. "For the movies, anyway. Or Nick Fury. But--"

"Eyepatch!" Gwen shouted, wiggling gleefully and showering Derek in blue flakes as more of her paint came off. "I want an eyepatch!"

Matt laughed and--when exactly had he gotten into the front passenger seat? (Derek supposed he shouldn't be surprised. After all, Matt was Batman.)

"Do you guys normally plan your Halloween costumes a year in advance?" Stiles asked, gamely clambering into the seat behind Laura as the kids got settled. 

Derek wasn't convinced they'd actually end up doing an Avengers theme. There was a whole year for Matt and the terrors to get distracted in. He wasn't going to say that out loud, though. "No, but Matt wanted us to do a group thing for something he and Jacob wanted to do next year, and we thought it'd be a good idea."

"Then Der went and suggested the Avengers as an option," Laura snorted, not sounding put out at all. "Dibs on Captain America, by the way."

Stiles twisted around, aiming a smile at the middle of the back seat. "What about you, Stacia? Gonna be the Widow?"

Stacia kicked their seat, short and vicious, and Derek didn't need to turn around to know she was scowling. "I'm _Thor_ ," she announced, slow and scornful like it shouldn't even had needed saying.

Which--at home, it didn't.

"No kicking seats, Stace," Laura chided from the front. "Just because you can't break 'em doesn't mean you get to be rude."

Stacia chuffed again and pushed her foot out to just _barely_ brush against the back of Derek and Stiles' seat. Jacob and Gwen snickered, Laura growled, and Derek contemplated running away to join the circus or something before the terrors hit their tween years because holy hell.

"Okay then," Laura said, patient and cheerfully ominous. "Stiles, where did you-- Wait, is that your Jeep? I think that's your Jeep."

And--oh. They were on Howe, not too far from that little cafe. Laura pulled the van over into a loading zone a few spots ahead of the Jeep and put them in park, twisting around to eye the back seats. "Okay, seating shuffle time. Have a good night, Stiles. You can take my brother with you if you want," she said, then blinked back a frown. "The older one, anyway. Jacob and Gwen are staying in the back seat and _Stacia_ is going to move up a row and sit in the middle."

The terrors all whined. Didn't make any move toward their seatbelts. Stiles looked conflicted but popped his belt and moved for the door when Derek jerked his chin toward it.

Derek followed him out. Slid the door most of the way closed and listened as Laura twisted around in her seat. (Like staring down a six year old with backup was going to work.)

"I should--"

"No, yeah, back your sister up against the tiny mutiny," Stiles sighed, stepping in anyway to bump their noses together with a cheesy grin. "Gonna say goodnight?"

Derek whispered, "As you wish," and kissed the laughter off of Stiles' lips. 

He tasted like caramel and peanut and Derek didn't want to let him go. (But he did, and got back into the van and helped wrangle the terrors into behaving, because that was what was needed. Not that it stopped him from wishing.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tattoo Artist of the Week:** [Maika Houde](http://tattrx.tumblr.com/tagged/maika-houde) of Quebec, Canada. Also found [here](http://maikatattooart.com/my-work-mon-travail/).
> 
>  **Reminder:** No update until March 31st. This story is on a (not-so) brief hiatus.
> 
> All information on hair in this chapter was mostly gleaned from the trials and tribulations of my friends, not first hand experience. I apologize for any mistakes.
> 
> If you'd like to see some of the events of this chapter from a different perspective and haven't read the story I posted for Halloween on The Kitchen Sink, you can check out [The BEST Ideas](http://archiveofourown.org/works/569745/chapters/2041490) for Laura's take on Halloween. 
> 
> Also, a quick reminder that [The Kitchen Sink](http://archiveofourown.org/works/569745/chapters/1020229) exists. It has family trees (if you've read to this point, chapter 1 is pointless) and side stories about other members of the family. There are no spoilers in TKS through chapter 7, as of this point.
> 
> Have a lovely March, everyone. I'll see you again on the 31st. Thank you so much for still reading. I don't know how you do it.


	63. that's a little on the creepy side, but it's nice too?

Derek managed to duck out of the horror that was haul counting and candy rationing. Escaped upstairs to shower because his hair felt more and more like it was covered in plastic with every passing minute. Laura would be distracted for a while yet, getting pictures of the kids at the end of the night and helping them clean off their faces, and he wanted to be _done_ before she was whining and pounding on the door. Or worse, tripping the lock and coming _in_ to berate him about it being her bathroom too.

He just wanted some time away from _people_. There had been entirely too many people already.

It took twice as long as he normally spent in the shower before his hair finally felt clean. He'd fogged up the mirrors, even with the fan on, and didn't feel a bit guilty.

Laura did it all the time. It was her turn to deal with the aftermath.

_He_ was going to _sleep_.

\-----

He thought he'd dreamed the soft padding steps in his room, but in the morning the air smelled too much like Matt and Pitch was curled up against the side of his head, purring on every exhale.

That wasn't so bad. He could deal with that.

(He could hear Gwen already downstairs, high pitched and excited. He could deal with that a little less.)

Pitch didn't hightail it out of the room when he got up. Just stretched out and yawned to show all his teeth ( _all_ his teeth), then blinked a few times at Derek before curling up again. Stayed a little purring ball on the pillow while Derek gathered his things and got dressed. 

He left the door open a crack, so Pitch wouldn't be stuck there all day (and an extra-long day, at that).

His mom was in the hall, steering Jacob and Stacia toward the stairs, and she gave him a wink and a smile as the kids shambled past. "I'll close it later."

Maybe she was bribing Matt to be a kitten matchmaker. That would make sense, with the way he kept putting kittens on people.

Then again, it was Matt. (Then again, it was _his mother_.)

All the same, when Matt came downstairs himself, Derek ducked out of the bathroom and gave him a light nudge toward the cracked open door.

He'd have returned the bright grin Matt gave him, but it was hard with the toothbrush in the way.

\-----

Breakfast was loud. Breakfast was always loud, but the day after Halloween meant it was also the day to argue about candy rations, gloat about who got the most of what, and arrange for trades and bargains.

Derek watched Matt talk Stacia into trading all her butterscotches for a Snickers and a Jolly Rancher, and feared for the future.

Laura cheated and slept through the whole thing, having taken the day _after_ Halloween off as well. Derek was jealous, but he hadn't had to work through the full moon like she normally did. He wasn't going to hold it against her.

\----- 

Shop policy was that the first hour of the day was for cleaning, getting the shop prepped for the day, and making appointments or answering questions if anyone actually wandered in. It wasn't for tattooing, except by special appointment, so Derek could man the shop by himself.

That was good. That meant there wasn't anyone else around to hear his not-so-muttered cursing as he got a look at the state of the ink stock and the cleaning supplies. Because that? That was going to take the full hour. At _least_.

He had no idea what Vic and Tony were going to do when he left. Probably accidentally barricade themselves off somewhere with crates of random extra gloves they bought because they couldn't find the ones they'd filled the bathroom with. (They weren't that bad. It just felt like it, when he came back from a day off, or three, and discovered the inks in chaos _again_.)

"So how was family time?" Tony asked when he breezed in an hour later, undaunted by or ignoring the glare Derek shot him over the array of cleaning station supplies he'd hauled out to put back _properly_. "Do anything fun? Aside from walking the kiddies on Halloween, anyway."   
"I made bread," Derek offered with a shrug. "Stiles spent a lot of time over at the house."

"You two are seriously weird," Tony laughed as he headed up to the front, hand brushing Derek's shoulder as he passed.

It sounded like he approved, though, so Derek didn't really mind.

\-----

The morning was just as crazy as he'd figured. Vic ran a little late getting in and Tony's first real appointment of the day ran early, which was always no fun. There was nothing Derek could do to help either, since he was half an hour into a realistic black scorpion holding a pink heart balloon. (Somehow, Tony talked his customer into a game of Go Fish while they waited for Vic without any drama or tears. Derek had _no idea_ how that had worked, but he was glad of it.)

It got better once Vic was in, though. The usual flow falling into place, even if it was weird being the busy one instead of the person stuck at the counter most of the time.

He was working on a ankle koi when he felt Stiles approaching. Was still working on it when the door opened and he could _smell_ him. Feel his wry amusement as he leaned around the wall to check on Derek and wave to Vic, the softer affection he felt for Tony as they exchanged greetings, his curiosity as he pulled the appointment book over to flip through the next few days his--

The skin under his hand felt like it was going to twitch, so he pulled his machine up. Waited out the spasm. Focused his attention on the vibration against his hand and the artwork in front of him.

(Even so, he could feel Stiles' amusement at him. Could pick out the smell of apples above the ink and iron.)

\-----

Tony fled for the back to prep a station as soon as Derek and Ankle Koi (the sixth, for him, but it was her first tattoo) came up to the front desk. Ankle Koi nodded seriously along as he went over her aftercare instructions a final time. Even dug a pen out of her purse and made notes on the handout he gave her, and asked questions about the type of lotion she needed.

She made faces at the idea of having to buy something fragrance free, but seemed serious about taking care of her new ink. He wasn't worried about it.

But then she was out the door with a cheerful wave and Stiles was looking up from his book with a grin, even if he wasn't getting up from his sprawl across the window seat. 

Whatever. Derek had half an hour until his next appointment, and Vic'd said she'd clean both their stations when she was done with a shattered flower thing on the back of someone's neck. (Because a three day absence meant he was a little backlogged, and half an hour here and there was the best he was getting for the rest of the day. And because cleaning two stations wasn't really that much harder than cleaning one.)

Derek walked over to the window seat and lifted Stiles' legs out of his way, sitting and arranging them over his lap while Stiles laughed.

"You could've just asked."

"You could've just moved," Derek countered. "What did you think I was coming over here for, dusting?"

Stiles twisted around to eye the legs, lips pursed thoughtfully. "I think they can wait until you get your neat-freak on tomorrow morning."

(They really couldn't. Not if he had to think about it.)

"Can we not talk about the legs," Derek sighed. "How was school? How are you? How are your applications going?"

The blink he got back for that was slow. Drawn out, even. He wasn't getting anything off of Stiles but mild amusement, though. 

So. Maybe that was a less casual way of broaching the subject than he'd been aiming for. And probably horrible timing, considering his appointments.

"School was school-like," Stiles finally offered with a shrug, shutting his book and cradling it against his chest. "You know how I am, just like I know you're feeling nervous and uncertain but stubborn. Which, I gotta tell you, that's weird feeling that from you. That's usually _me_."

He liked that feeling, actually. Not experiencing it, but remembering it. It was made of layered rough circles so numerous they looked like clouds, and delicate cross-hatching that made nonsense shapes.

Maybe he'd draw that for Stiles, sometime. See if he could read it for what it meant.

But that wasn't the point. "You talk to the others about college, but you haven't talked about it with me yet."

"Weeeeeell," Stiles slouched, eying the wall behind his head like it had changed sometime in the last week. (It hadn't. It did, however, put Stiles' neck on blatant display, and fucking hell his mate was a manipulative little jerk sometimes.) At the thought, or more likely whatever emotion went with it, Stiles snapped his chin back down, blinking cautiously at Derek. "I didn't need a letter from you, and I already knew you went to Vic's school."

The letter made sense, at least. Derek was still an apprentice, didn't have as much experience or breadth as the others. But-- "Because you asked Vic," Derek guessed, but Stiles shook his head.

"Not outright. I asked about her and Cara, and she gave me the rundown on you and Tony too. Or what she could remember about Tony, anyway. Dude's been around."

"I'm telling him you said that."

Stiles grinned back at him, finally starting to relax again. "I hope so. _Tony_ appreciates my sense of humor." He wriggled a bit, digging his heels into Derek's hip and curling his legs more securely across Derek. "But seriously, this was way back when I first _started_ thinking about working someplace like this. There wasn't a lot you could've added to the discussion, and you kinda barely tolerated me back then."

False, but he could correct that thought later. "I'm kind of invested _now_. I was-- If you don't mind it, I'll go with you. To whatever city you're in, I mean, not--" 

Stiles was staring at him, wide eyed and mouth open, which was _not_ helping. And of course, what fell out of his mouth to try and explain what he meant was "I'm not trying to be creepy."

(Allison had said that to him, when they'd had John and Stiles' friend Scott over for dinner. It hadn't worked then, either.)

Stiles' book slid off his chest and fell to the floor with a flutter, a crumple, and a thunk. Stiles was too busy laughing to care, one hand over his mouth and his other arm curled over his hitching stomach. "Oh--oh man. You do it _so well_ , though."

Derek huffed annoyance and poked at Stiles' exposed side, just to make him squirm a bit. "Vic and Cara want me to go out and work with other artists anyway. I'm not suggesting we move in together," (not right away, at any rate,) "but it'd be nice to be in the same general area. So we could see each other, when--missing home got to be too much."

He figured that'd be more a problem for him than Stiles, even though he'd already _gone_ to college. Knew what it was like to be away for years at a time. Stiles just--seemed more adaptable in that regard.

Still.

"Yeah," Stiles agreed, tightening his legs briefly in a weird sort of leg-to-hip hug before swinging them off Derek's lap and straightening up. Fetching his book from the floor. "That-- I mean, yeah, that's a little on the creepy side, but it's nice too? I know Dad thinks I should do the dorm thing for a while, but if I do that a year or two--"

If he did that for two years, he'd be twenty and they'd have been together for two and a half years. 

That was reasonable by human standards, he thought. If they wanted to start living together. (Ironically, moving a bit fast by werewolf standards, but they'd already blown that one out of the water.)

Stiles leaned in, eyes bright and smelling so much like apple-spice-musk Derek wasn't sure he could pick Vic's scent out of the cushions if he tried.

Then Stiles jerked back, expression suddenly overly innocent and the bond spiking with hand-in-the-cookie-jar guilt, and--the bell over the door rang, the breeze bringing in--

Orange-blossoms and rose-water perfume. (Who _was_ that. He didn't--wait, stylized peacock, mostly black with bright accent touches in aqua and teal, they'd met about the art a few weeks ago and she'd finalized by phone. No wonder he didn't remember the scent.) 

His customer stopped short, just inside the door, looking down at them with her hand still braced against the handle. "Uh--"

Derek human-smiled up at her, standing and offering his hand. "Hi," he said, ignored Stiles' barely-muffled snickering behind him. "You ready?"

\-----

Stiles had to leave before he was done, but that was okay. There was a text waiting on his phone after he'd cleaned up his station (and Tony's, because it really was almost as easy to do two as one).

_Call 2nite?_

He replied back _Im off @6_ and didn't succeed very well at smothering a laugh when Stiles immediately shot back _Dude ur alwys off_.

His mate. What even.

\-----

Derek jogged through town to the edge of the Preserve, as always. Slowed to a walk once he was hidden in the treeline and called Stiles.

Took his time walking home, with Stiles' voice and laugh and life plans filling his ear.

It was good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tattoo Artist of the ~~Week~~ Month:** [Jeff Tarinelli](http://www.jefftarinelli.com/) currently apparently in Portland, OR. I might have linked him before, but I feel he's worth revisiting.
> 
> Believe it or not, we're getting close to my being able to wrap this story up. I know better than to try and set any immediate goals, but I am hoping to finish before August. That would be the two year anniversary of when I started writing (not posting) and I'd like to be done _before_ then. I am cautiously hopeful of this.
> 
> If you're experiencing story fatigue and haven't stopped reading yet, I potentially have good news. This really is the equivalent of a first draft. Each chapter is edited, but the entire story as a whole work has never been edited, since it isn't done yet. However, the plan is that enigmatic roommate and I will go through the whole work once it's done and edit it. The final version will probably be significantly shorter (but there's no way I would have gotten through the bulk of writing without your support, seriously), and the goal is to improve the pacing and make the whole thing a more cohesive whole.
> 
> So if you're sick and tired of the pace of this story, you totally have the option of stopping reading and coming back when the edited version goes up. I plan to leave this version up as well, with notes in the summaries explaining why there are two versions, for people who prefer the raw draft.


	64. might as well be family

Friday was pretty much the same as Thursday, only with a slightly less crazed schedule. 

Stiles came by after school to hang out for a few hours. Talked with Derek about the schools he'd already applied to for early admission and what appointments Derek had scheduled for the day. Talked with Vic about airbrushing and tattoo gun techniques and how they were different. Talked with Tony about proportions while Derek was busy tattooing a Happy Meal on the back of someone's calf. (He didn't understand people, sometimes. But he didn't need to.)

Stiles still had to head home before Derek was done for the day. They didn't talk that night. Laura picked Derek and Cara up at the end of their day and drove them back home, then accidentally started an argument about expanding the house.

David thought adding onto the house would be best. He wanted a wing, looking forward to when the kids would need their own rooms, to Greg and Erin growing up, to Edward and Danielle coming back, and making sure they had room for the family to expand. Maria growled at the idea of having to let strangers into the house, even if they would be able to do most of the work on their own. Tania found some blank paper and listed out who used what bathrooms, what rooms were actually available and the distance to bathrooms that weren't already claimed territory, half problem-solving and half making a point. (The point being that there just weren't that many bathrooms left, no matter how much the werewolves in the family didn't mind sharing.) Peter's opinions kept changing, Olivia was watched the whole shitshow with quiet amusement and Paul nearly brought a stop to the whole thing by making a bowl of popcorn and bringing it over to share with his mother. (Laura had already long since slunk upstairs, wide eyed and sorry she'd ever asked.)

Cara was oblivious for most of it, off in the kitchen stirring something that smelled sweetly-spicy while she waited for her pack to start making sense again.

Vic showed up just as another round of low-growled arguments started (this time between Peter and Tania), blinked slow and pointed at her pack.

"I don't care either way," she drawled, when they left space for her to get a word in edgewise. "We won't be able to get anything built before Cara and I move in, though, especially not with the holidays starting up soon. So I was sort of figuring we'd take my grandpa's old room." 

That--was smart. That room was off in a corner on the ground floor, so Cara wouldn't have to get over her worry about heights if she needed to leave in a hurry. It hadn't been opened more than a handful of times since Derek was eight. Still smelled of mistletoe and an old, broken man he couldn't remember well. There was the bathroom next to the mudroom, too, that they could use. They'd be sharing with the whole family, but not much.

"The smell won't bother us much, especially if we repaint. Cara never knew Papa and I'm not a werewolf."

Derek stole a handful of popcorn and sidled out of the room to join Cara in the kitchen as a whole _new_ brand of arguments started up.

His family.

\-----

Cara's contribution to dinner turned out to be soup. It smelled of lemongrass and ginger and Derek's didn't know _what_ else (Peter mentioned tamarind, but that wasn't exactly enlightening). 

It was good enough that it kept the dinner table arguments to a minimum. (Well, the soup and Tania wedging herself in between Peter and David, leaning over and biting either of them whenever they pulled the conversation back to the house.)

(Greg loved it, because it meant his mother had handed him off to the alpha to be doted on all through the meal.)

\-----

Derek did sleep that night. He knew he did. He lost a few hours here and there, between rearranging his bedding and chuffing annoyance into his pillows.

He knew he slept. It just didn't feel like it.

A little after five a.m., he decided it wasn't worth it. Got up, got ready (quick _and_ quiet, in a way Derek was convinced you needed to grow up with a house full of werewolves to figure out), got a batch of biscuits prepped for his family. Because fresh biscuits were awesome, and not that much work.

Olivia lingered after her patrol. Went to wash her hands and face and sat with him, eating biscuits almost-but-not-quite dripping with butter and honey (he could never figure out how she did it, figuring that perfect ratio out every time, but he and his honey covered fingers were deeply envious).

She promised to get the second round out of the oven before the timer woke everyone up, and Derek left. Ran the long way to work, adding on miles and still getting there an hour before he should have.

Whatever. There was still cleaning and reorg to be done.

\-----

He started to feel Stiles not long after noon, which--

Right. Saturday. No school, just Alan.

(More important was the way Vic tilted her head, not long after that. Frowning and confused before grinning suddenly and seeking out Derek's eyes and mouthing 'Stiles?' She spiked gleeful when he nodded before going back to cleaning her station and Tony's. It might have been worrying, the human members of the pack bonding to him faster than most of the werewolves, but-- Vic was born into the bonds. It was different. And Stiles spent more time with her and Cara than anyone else in the pack. Except him, obviously. It made sense. It was--good.)

When Stiles dragged himself in a few minutes later, it was to Derek waving his customer out the door with a pamphlet on tattoo care and instructions to call if anything went wrong. Stiles waited until the door had closed behind the guy before giving Derek a tired thumbs up. "Score for timing."

"Vic's cleaning my station," Derek offered, leaning against the counter and watching closely as Stiles stumbled his way over. "And says you owe her one."

Stiles shrugged, unconcerned, as he pulled his stool over and sat next to Derek. "She's gonna have to teach me how to clean the tables if she wants to call that one in. Now help me out. I need to figure out what I'm doing with these."

And the counter was abruptly full of sketchbooks. Nicer ones than the purple thing Stiles had bought for school, but on the small side. Not much bigger than a paperback. Blue, green, aqua, yellow, a new, deeper purple.

"I...would assume drawing?" Derek tried, picking the green book up and flipping through it. Nothing had been added yet. The books still smelled like new paper and glue.

"Hah hah," Stiles drawled, digging another book (red) out and tossing it up with the rest. "I _mean_ , I'm getting tired of having to leaf around my assignments for my own stuff, and vice versa. So. Different books."

Derek considered that for a moment. Nodded and shrugged. "That's still a lot of books."

"I figure this one for my afterschool class," Stiles said, picking up the red book and completely ignoring Derek's input. "And the purple one to replace my old one for school stuff. But then I want different books for practicing objects, people, and tattoo ideas."

Derek nodded again, surveying Stiles' pile. "That's still too many books."

Stiles didn't seem concerned, rearranging them like a rainbow. "Whatever. Good to have a spare. Now, what colors go with what?"

They argued it out until Stiles figured out that he'd already decided what colors went with what and just hadn't realized it yet. Then Derek had another appointment, and by the time he was done Stiles had passed out in the window seat.

Tony had a photo on his phone to prove it, too. Because for all that he didn't know anything, Tony might as well be family.

\-----

Sunday was pretty much the same, only with Stiles showing up even later and much better rested. He nested in the windowseat and caught up on homework (if working a week ahead could ever be called 'catching up'), and it was just-- It was _so much_ like it had been, most of a year ago, but only on the surface. Only if you didn't look at the quiet smiles they exchanged while they were both working, or the easy way Stiles shifted to make room for Derek when he had time to come over and sit for a bit.

It was a good day, even if Stiles did drop the news that John expected him by for dinner again sometime soon.

\-----

"I love how taking off three days around Halloween didn't mess your schedule up," Stiles commented, eying the projected schedule for the beginning of December with blatant disbelief. "But the weird week for November _completely hosed_ the rest of the year."

"It's not the moon," Derek corrected, ducking in close to brush the words against Stiles' ear. (There wasn't anyone close enough to overhear, but the shiver he got out of Stiles was reward itself.) "Cara's taking the bite. Once she does, she'll have to cut her hours back and only be here when I am."

In case something went wrong. In case someone gave her a shock or tried to make her angry. In case her new, unfamiliar instincts decided that someone was prey to be chased. A threat to be taken out.

(It was Cara, though. They weren't too worried she'd see prey when she looked at people. Not like Tania had. Threats on the other hand--)

Stiles stiffened, then elbowed Derek in the ribs. Hard enough it hurt a little. Hard enough it would have been active hostility, between humans.

"Jerk," Stiles hissed, but didn't stop leaning against him. "And when was somebody going to tell me this?"

"Just did," Derek pointed out, and blocked Stiles' elbow before it could connect again. "Can we go back to _this_ week and figuring out dinner? Please?"

Stiles huffed but let Derek flip the pages back. "Nothing to figure out. It's gonna be Tuesday, because it's the only non-Deaton day you'll both be free in the evening, and I refuse to have to deal with school, Deaton, two sets of homework, _and_ an awkward dinner all in one day. Re. Fuse."

"Tuesday, then. Thanks for sharing."

"I'm a sharer. I'm awesome like that."

\-----

Monday, he didn't see Stiles. Received a text an hour before his shift ended.

_So tird. Brain hurts. Call l8r?_

He walked home from the tree line again. Talked to Stiles about the schools he was thinking of applying to if his early admission applications came back negative. Talked about the consultations he'd had recently, and design ideas he'd had. Talked about the training he was doing with Alan.

Derek curled up in an armchair when he got home and filled a few pages with feeling-abstracts. Sketched in the overlapping circle-clouds and crosshatching of nervous-uncertain-stubborn. The rough squares and gritty smudges of just-plain-stubborn. The narrow, wavery lines that curled up in a knot for what Cara felt like when faced with something that made her heart rate pick up and her shoulders tense. More normal anxiety/fear, with thicker squiggles that ran mostly diagonal, but not linear.

Monday, he found out later, Yuriko dropped by after Derek's shift and approved the embroidery design. Said she'd call in to discuss appointment timing with Derek when he was around.

\-----

Tuesday was rescheduled-consultation-day. He had three of them, all bumping into each other on the schedule. All big, complex designs of the sort that were most likely to run over and cause backups.

On the other hand, they were all big, complex designs that Derek was looking forward to working on. A chameleon, curling around a hip with the tail dangling down the leg, fading from high detail at the tail to being implied with shadows at the head, like it was fading out of sight. A celtic knotwork design using hounds and hares for the back of a woman who ran a greyhound rescue operation. 

And Mr. Questions, finally back and surprised that Derek already had concepts sketched out for the design he'd hinted at when he came in the first time, not knowing anything about tattoos. (Derek didn't regret the time spent working on the designs, even if there wasn't anyone paying the shop for that time. The broad swirls and circles would have adapted well for legs or arms, the rejects still would, and he had a much better idea what Questions wanted, after a few pages of pointing and gesturing.)

Stiles came in at the end of his shift. Leaned into his space and demanded to know what had him so happy. They looked over the sketches, and Stiles went into raptures over the chameleon. Knotwork still wasn't his thing, but he liked the interlocking abstract Questions had asked for. Suggested two layers of color instead of one, a mid-grey to balance out the stark black. 

Questions had only wanted black, but it wouldn't hurt to try a two-toned variation out. Derek agreed it probably would look better.

Dinner wasn't horrible. It was a lot calmer than the last time. No pointedly awkward questions, just a few about werewolves that made Derek sincerely wish he could ban John from the internet.

Stiles spent the night equal parts mortified and gleeful, so they were at least an amusing train wreck.

It wasn't bad, though. They ended up talking mostly about magic and Stiles' training, after Derek remembered the abstracts he'd sketched out for Stiles (he couldn't read 'stubborn', but he recognized anxiety and Cara-anxiety, even though he frowned at it, not understanding why it was different). 

John hugged Derek before he left. Let Stiles drive him home, since it was dark out and humans were strange about that.

It was nice.

\-----

It was nice until he got home, another argument about expanding the house turning the gentle curves in his head to jagged, rough edges grinding against each other.

He slunk upstairs and out of range before anyone could pull him in, glad he'd already eaten. 

\-----

It was strange, but Derek was finally starting to be able to see a pattern to his life, at least until Stiles graduated. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays, Stiles was going to be tired. He'd see him at Tinge, but not after. They'd probably talk on the phone. Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday dinners were open to being accosted by John, schedules permitting, but otherwise meant he'd probably actually see Stiles. Maybe even outside of work.

Sundays were wildcards, and Derek's lack of a standard Monday through Friday work week didn't help to figure it out, but it was enough.

It was enough for him to have an idea of what to expect. Enough for him to relax into the idea of stability, loose as it was.

He slept better that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooo, this was an exciting chapter. No tattoo link today, I'm afraid. I was editing this chapter right up until I went to sleep last night, and haven't had time to dig around for a good one.
> 
> I wrote a chapter last week that had the enigmatic roommate metaphorically swooning and clutching her pearls. (Which I had been fully aware was going to happen.) We spent most of the week hammering it out into something that hopefully won't give yi'all whiplash.
> 
> Have a great week. See you next Monday. <3


	65. mumbling something about triangular diplomacy

Derek had Wednesday off, but he and Stiles hadn't made plans to meet up. He spent most of his morning buying paint and supplies while Vic cleaned and aired out her grandfather's old room. Spent the afternoon mildly disturbed by the shade of purple Vic and Cara had him putting on the walls, and weirdly glad of the fumes. They mostly covered the mixed scents of a man he barely remembered and the acrid tang of mistletoe.

Stiles called him after finishing up with Alan to gripe about surprise tests and evil extracurriculars (which Derek assumed meant magic, since so far as he knew Stiles didn't have anything else--didn't have _time_ for anything else), which Derek took to mean that phone calls were all they were getting.

It was okay, even if it did make an unhappy jumble in his head. It was one day.

\-----

Thursday, Stiles was still preparing for the unexpected test (apparently, by helping Scott and Allison study for the same test, which--didn't actually surprise Derek at all). Only stopped by Tinge for about an hour, until lacrosse practice let out.

He called again, after work. Listened as Stiles rambled about how messed up the Sixties were, aimless and slow and increasingly incoherent until a snore cut across the dialogue.

Derek had to stare at his phone for a while after that. Kept listening as Stiles picked his train of thought right up again while, apparently, asleep. "Stiles?"

He didn't react, kept mumbling something about triangular diplomacy.

"Stiles!"

Another snore.

Derek hung up the phone and called John. He didn't have a key to the house, so there wasn't much he could do even if he did run over.

Not unless he wanted to break in, which--while an option, probably wasn't a smart one.

\-----

Friday was Yuriko's appointment. Derek had enough time carved out of his schedule that if Yuriko didn't need to take too many breaks, didn't twitch too badly or need to flail herself toward the bathroom to throw up (not unheard of, sadly for their floor), they might be able to finish in one sitting.

He didn't expect to, but it was possible.

(The fact that the last chunk of her appointment extended past when Stiles was out of school was entirely beside the point.)

She decided she wanted to start at the top of the design where it would be less visible and probably the hardest part to get through overall. (Ankles were hell, for a lot of people, but so were ribs. And Derek knew from experience that once he got _past_ the ribs, some customers started having to deal with the fact that they were letting a stranger work over their squishy vitals with a sharp object.)

Yuriko was a champ with having to lie around with her bra unhooked and her shirt rucked up until it was barely decent (apparently, it _was_ just cameras). She dealt with the pain just fine. Breathed through it and cracked an endless litany of stupid jokes for the friend she'd brought along for moral support, whenever she had enough air to talk.

He got two inches past her last rib and pulled his machine up, feeling the spasm coming.

Did _not_ expect her to kick, twisting her leg back in a move too poorly coordinated to be anything but reflex. She was in a bad position to hit anything, thankfully. Barely brushed his arm.

"Ohmygod," she gasped, sounding on the edge of tears. (Her friend was wide eyed and silent, fingers tense and paling where they were clutched around Yuriko's hand. Her alarm smelled like metals and oranges in a way that made him desperately want to sneeze.)

Derek turned his gun off and set it down, reached over to pet her hip carefully with the back of his glove. "You didn't hurt anything. Break time?"

She nodded. "Sorry. I didn't--"

"Apology accepted," he cut her off. Because it was. Because he just wanted to get her side cleaned up and bandaged enough to let her get up and move around.

The rest of the appointment went well, once Yuriko knew what to expect. She did let them take in-progress photos, between finishing the torso section and getting it wrapped up for the day. (And it was _not_ adorable how she curled her arms over her face and blushed until he could see it in her neck, when the camera came out. Really.) She wanted to keep going down onto the leg, though she had to call it off just short of her knee. (Derek would have if she hadn't. Her scent had started turning sweet-sharp in a way that seemed wrong and sick.)

And of course that's when he felt Stiles. Still a few miles out, but on his way.

"Call in to schedule your next session once the current work has healed," Derek told Yuriko and her minder, after finishing up explaining the aftercare instructions to her then, when she started to giggle (because of _course_ she hit her endorphin rush after they'd stopped), explaining aftercare to her friend who was, thankfully, driving her home.

Yuriko's friend nodded, grinning the whole while, and started steering her out the door. The door that Stiles was suddenly at and holding open, smiling bemusement at the not-actually-drunk Yuriko who beamed happily back at him. "C'mon. I think you deserve some pad see yew."

"And curry," Yuriko insisted, before the door swung shut behind them. "Pineapple curry. And spring rolls, and--"

Stiles turned back to him, grinning and not feeling drained for the first time in days. "Please tell me you got photos."

He stayed until Derek was off shift, finishing up the assignments he'd wanted to get done that weekend and working on the few that he hadn't known about in advance. They got burgers at Floyd's, and Derek ignored the fact that the waitress just looked to Stiles for their order, hesitating just long enough to give him a chance to object before she walked off. (That was a lie. The idea that they were recognizable, memorable, known as a unit curled up in his gut like Pitch, all warm and purring contentment that felt like bright-warm paint splatters.)

They spent an hour just drawing. Cityscapes and fantastical creatures and abstracts wrapping around normal objects like lovers.

(If he'd had it his way, that hour wouldn't have ended.)

\-----

"Here. Be brutal."

Derek tried not to laugh as Vic sighed heavily and took the sketchbook (green, so supposedly figure studies) Stiles had practically shoved in her face over the consultation counter. "What?"

"I need critique, and you've got my boyfriend cleaning your station. So hup to."

Vic rolled her eyes (Derek couldn't see it, but he knew Vic. Knew what that change in her posture meant) but started leafing through the sketchbook regardless. "Okay. Screw what I was planning on. _You_ are getting a coloring book for Christmas."

Stiles yelped, slashing at the air between them and grabbing for the book (Vic swiveled her stool around to keep it out of Stiles' reach, the bonds between them shaking with Stiles' indignation and Vic and Derek's amusement). "I can't be _that_ bad. I just need practice! And _helpful_ critique, which you are not giving!"

"Relax, short stuff," Vic drawled, loftily ignoring the fact that Stiles was taller than her. "I was kidding about Christmas," she added as her stool turned her back to Stiles and away again. "No way I'm holding out on you that long." She came back around to the counter and planted her toes to bring herself to a full stop, then leaned over the counter to bop Stiles on the head with his own sketchbook. "And it's an anatomy coloring book, not My Little Pony's Superhero Adventures, or whatever you were thinking. Super helpful for figuring out how bodies work from a visual perspective."

Derek had to look away for a moment to get another surface wipe, and by the time he looked up again Stiles was squinting contemplatively at Vic.

"I dunno. My Little Pony Superhero Adventures sounds pretty awesome."

"If I can find something like that," Vic promised, "I'll buy us _both_ a copy."

Stiles grinned and Vic smiled back, human wide and indulgent. The shop always smelled a little like them (like all of them, their own weird little sub-pack that just happened to include Tony), but the earth-and-spice that was Vic and Stiles together warmed, picking up a toasty note that spoke of affection and Vic's dominant chemistry. 

Still smiling, she leaned in again, dropping the sketchbook onto the counter (but with a hand pinning it down so Stiles couldn't snatch it back). "I'll get to how you're horribly wrong about elbows in a minute. I wanted to ask, though. Has Derek invited you and your dad to Thanksgiving yet?"

And--shit. Derek froze mid-wipe, Stiles' surprise blindsiding him for a moment like an unexpected flashbang.

"Uh. No? I mean, Dad I and normally-- We don't have family we're really close to, and Scott's just got his mom and they can't afford to go visit her family most of the time, so--"

Vic bopped Stiles on the head with his book again, radiating amusement. "That's fine. Just so long as you know you're welcome, because someone asked you more than a couple days in advance" she continued, twisting around so she was talking more to Derek than Stiles. (Derek huffed and moved around the station so his back was to her, which didn't cut down her amusement at the situation at _all_.) She snorted and turned back to Stiles. "The whole family's been in an uproar about me and Cara moving back in, so Derek's been avoiding family discussions." He was. He hadn't even bothered being subtle about it. "Chances are good he forgot Thanksgiving was looming."

(He had. Not that he was ever going to admit it.)

Stiles felt like he was smiling. "It's an easy one to forget if you aren't responsible for the food. I'll mention it to Dad, but no promises. Okay?"

"Cool," she said, flipping the sketchbook open again. Then, "You two are still coming for dinner tomorrow?"

"Ugh, yes. Critique now? Please? You said something about elbows."

\-----

Sunday, he was off work, the kitchen table was finally done airing out after its last coat of finish, the terrors started petitioning for a trip to the aerospace museum (well, the 'airspace' museum), and Maria finally gave in to the inevitable after locking herself in the study with her mate and a list of expected changes for a few hours of grumbling versus logic.

"We still aren't starting construction until spring," she grumbled on her way to the kitchen where, from the sound of it, Peter shoved a rare bowl of leftovers at her and told her to stay out of his way until lunch was ready.

John and Stiles showed up for dinner and it was Laura's turn to be on beer-and-baby duty. (John looked like he _wanted_ to crack a joke about it, but was worried they might stop if he did.)

It went well. Or, as well as could be expected. Even when Gwen half-shifted, because she _knew_ her fangs looked ridiculous around a mouthful of peas and thought it was hilarious (so did Matt and Jacob and, importantly, Tania, much as she tried not to show it), John just sipped at his beer and adjusted his grip on Erin before turning toward Maria.

"So...this is normal?"

His mother opened her mouth to answer, then reached up to snatch a roll out of the air and growled at Peter.

Peter just grinned, leaning back to hide behind his mate. "Now it is."

His family.

(Stiles snickered through the whole exchange, because of course he did.)

Nobody said anything about Thanksgiving.

\-----

Monday was _Ugh ur wrking l8 n I have Dtn fml_ (which Derek only understood because he had context and experience with Stiles' texting) followed by _Call if u have a break?_

He made a break, around 8:30 after one of Cara's appointments wrapped up early. Stiles didn't sound anywhere near as tired as he had the previous week, but he'd seemed pretty rested on Sunday. Derek figured he'd have to just wait and see.

\-----

Tuesday, Vic arrived a little before nine a.m. with two duffle bags full of her and Cara's summer wardrobe, washed months ago but holding the scent of their home from just proximity. Their room still smelled like paint, even after a day of airing out. Even with the trays of baking soda he'd left in the corners.

The clothes spread out over the floor helped a little, for him. Not enough, if Vic's scrunched nose was anything to go by.

"I'll bring some worn stuff tomorrow," she sighed. "We're still weeding through our things for what we want to get rid of."

"Like the hell couch?"

"The hell couch is definitely going."

He rode with her to work and stole her keys. Drove out to the edge of town to see George (chevrons pointed down both forearms, a compass rose on the back of his neck, his wife's bite-imprint tattooed on his ass and, coincidentally, Peter's favorite butcher) and confirm he had a turkey earmarked for them. Got a weight estimate, a rant about how unfair it was that Peter had a separate supplier for his rabbits (and no, he didn't care that the supplier was Peter's brother, that was irrelevant), passed along Peter's wish list of organs, and confirmed when they could pick the bird up.

They talked about the look of metal, and old keys, and Derek promised to put together some sketches for a forearm piece, for the inside of his left arm.

That always seemed to happen when he drove out to see George.

\-----

Stiles still seemed well rested when he stopped by Tinge after school. Seemed fine when he suggested they grab dinner to go (tacos, because the school had taunted him at lunch with tacos that weren't worth eating--only then he ended up ordering a burrito instead, but whatever), and when he drove them out to the Preserve.

Drove them, in fact, back to the clearing Derek had staked out for their first real date.

"Who was it, who was snarking about picnics in October?" Derek mused, and smiled when Stiles shoved at his shoulder with a huff.

"Shut up. Dad's home and it's been _way_ too long since we've had time to ourselves. Now eat your tacos," Stiles instructed, waiting for all of the ten seconds it took him to unwrap the end of his burrito before asking "So how was your day?"

Right as Derek had shoved half a taco in his mouth. Because of course.

He rolled his eyes and chewed while Stiles laughed.

\-----

The Stilinskis weren't coming to Thanksgiving. They had a whole routine--Derek wasn't sure if the accompanying hand gestures had been meant to imply self-mockery or distract from the idea that there was no mockery at all about two humans (or two human families) making pack rituals out of culturally mandated holidays--and Stiles was going to be off at college next year, so John really wanted one more year of just them. (He didn't say it, but Derek could feel that Stiles did too.)

Apparently Scott's mother felt the same, since Stiles relayed the fact that the Argents had made a similar offer to the McCalls.

It was disappointing but not surprising. John was more reserved than his son, even when bribed with beer and a baby. (But maybe for the best. Niq wasn't the best at sharing even when it _wasn't_ her baby, and as much as Greg adored John-- Well. Greg tended to put his teeth on things he adored, including his mom, his sister, and his alpha. Laura didn't count. _Everybody_ wanted to bite Laura occasionally. The cooing Greg did when he latched onto her was entirely incidental.)

It wasn't surprising _or_ disappointing when Stiles tossed their trash into the back and said "So, do you wanna just make out over the gear shift, or do you think I'd fit in your lap?"

(He fit in Derek's lap surprisingly well, actually, and didn't complain too much when Derek kept his hands on Stiles' hips mostly to keep him _back_.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tattoo Artist of the Week:** [Madame Chan](http://www.hublechat.org/), of a variety of locations in Europe and occasionally in New York. I think I've linked to her before but, again, this has been going on longer than initially intended. ;P
> 
> Once the story is done, I will try to remember to collect all the artists I've linked to over the history of the story and include them again in the final chapter end notes.
> 
> I actually had this chapter done yesterday morning, and would have updated earlier but I _forgot it was Sunday_. I have to go back to work today instead of having my Sunday today. I'm very disappointed in that reality.
> 
> But I did, at least, remember to update.
> 
> In other news, y'all have been asking some great questions. I am horrible about replying to comments, but I'm trying to be better. There are still some questions out there I intend to go back to, as well as some I'm sure I forgot. Feel free to ask again, here or on tumblr, if there's something I didn't respond to that you really wanted to know.


	66. I brought you stuffing

Wednesday, he got home just in time to hear his mother saying "Wait, wait," then "Get in here, Danielle's on the phone!"

Derek jogged across the lawn, shedding his shoes as quickly as he could in the entryway and stumbling through the main room, where his mother was already walking toward him, phone extended and grinning like a loon.

"Is that Derek?" Danielle said, tinny and tiny in the void of the room. "It sounded like Derek."

"It's Derek," he confirmed as soon as he got the phone up to his ear. Grinned when she huffed at him. "How are you?"

" _Oh_ my god, ask someone else," she moaned, fabric whumphing in the background in a way that suggested she'd flopped back onto her bed. "I already told Grandma, then Dad, then _Mom_ asked. You people need to all be there at once, or I am _never getting off the phone_."

Derek flipped through his mental calendar, grinning. "Laura should be getting home next," he offered, pleased with her answering groan. "Does that mean you don't want to talk to her?"

"You suck," she griped, but it sounded like she was smiling. "And you'll be able to grill me next week anyway. A friend of mine down here is driving home to Chico Tuesday night. She offered to drop me and Kerri off on her way."

"So you'll be home--?"

"Ungodly, Wednesday morning," Danielle confirmed. "Worth it, though."

It was pretty much a full day more than they'd expected to have with her, even if they counted the drive, so he couldn't disagree.

"We miss you."

"I know. I felt it, the last time you ran," she confirmed. "I miss you too."

Laura stumbled in a few minutes later, kicking her shoes out of the way and making grabby hands for the phone. Derek leaned away, grinning.

Danielle laughed as Laura growled and pounced, tugging the phone from his grip and stretching out over him where she'd knocked him to the floor to get her time with their sister. "Dani! Is the mascot still a thing? Getting enough tail? Mom texted and said you had a boyfriend, but not if he was the same one or not."

" _Oh my god_ ," Danielle moaned.

Under Laura, Derek grunted. Danielle hadn't told _him_ any of that. Traitor.

\-----

Vic brought more laundry over, and the room finally started smelling like her and Cara instead of just fresh paint. There was almost no trace of her grandfather left. (In the room, at least. They still had boxes of his things, wrapped up and tucked away safe in the attic, for anybody who needed to remember.)

Paul's bird (sourced through a friend, who traded rabbits and vegetables for chicken and eggs) looked like it was going to be larger than George's for the first time in years. It left Peter sulking and Paul radiating smug whenever his brother was around.

There were weirder things to focus sibling rivalry into, Derek was sure. He couldn't think of any, but they had to exist.

\-----

The Friday before Thanksgiving, Derek didn't bother lifting his head from the register counter when Stiles came in. Lifted a hand in a half-hearted wave.

"Ooookay," Stiles drew out, more amused than was really fair as he pulled his stool over until it bumped against Derek's. "I had news, but it can wait. What's with the Eeyore impression?"

Derek lifted his head to watch Stiles' face. "Someone just walked out of here in a huff, because I told her she couldn't have a seasonal tattoo."

"Uh," Stiles paused, eyes flicking up to the wall while it felt like his brain did an impression of a pinball. "She--wanted something Thanksgiving themed, or fall, or--"

"She wanted something she could update," Derek clarified, appreciating the baffled gape Stiles was giving him. "Like, a leaf for autumn, but it'd be a snowflake for winter, sort of update." He dropped his head again and had to repress a pleased rumble when Stiles rubbed his back. "I tried suggesting combined imagery, but either I wasn't understanding her or she wasn't understanding _me_ because she just blew up saying that's what she'd been asking for."

"That sounds like it sucked," Stiles half leaned over his back, laying an arm across his shoulder blade to prop his chin on.

"Mhm." Derek turned his head to the side, so he could see Stiles without jostling him away. "You had news?"   
"It's really more of a question," Stiles hedged. "Is Laura always so--?"

"Yes," Derek said, not needing to think about it. "What'd she do this time?"

"The Jeep was making a weird noise, so I took it to the shop yesterday. They said I could come in and pick it up, but Laura was there so I figured I'd go over and say hi. But when I got over there, she was singing to herself, and grinned at me all--grr-y."

Derek could translate that well enough. His sister had flashed her fangs at his mate in public. Awesome. But--

Singing?

He couldn't remember the words, not as well as Laura could, but. "Bum-bum-bum-bada-dum-dum-dum-bada--"

Stiles twitched against his side, leaning back and pushing at his shoulder. "Yes! That."

"'This is Halloween'," Derek said (just _said_ , he was not bursting into song at work) as he straightened up. "It's the opening theme to Nightmare Before Christmas."

Stiles squinted at him, suspicion lurking at the edges of the bond. "That sounds familiar. What--"

"We only let the terrors watch it between Halloween and Christmas, unless Mom's upset," Derek explained. "It's her favorite movie, and the terrors aren't far behind." Neither was Matt, if he was honest. And Laura. "They usually forget about it until around now, though."

Or until Laura started singing random catchy songs around the house, to remind them. Whichever came first.

"I can't tell if this is incentive to come over for a movie night, or a good reason to avoid your house for a while," Stiles mused, bumping his shoulder against Derek's before leaning down to grab his bag.

"Both," Derek said, smiling when Stiles twisted around to glare up at him. "No, seriously. It's a fun movie, and worth watching if you don't remember it. It just--gets to be a bit much, when you're seeing it four times a week."

Stiles snorted, pulling out his green sketchbook. "Whatever. You'd think you'd be used to it, after Lilo and Stitch." He pushed the sketchbook across the counter to Derek. "Now here, tell me what's wrong with my arms. Did you have more abstracts for me?"

\-----

The grocery runs started. First with innocuous things, like pecans, extra flour, enough butter to fill half the freezer, potatoes and orange potatoes (he was _out_ of the yam vs sweet potato debate, and did not care--they were orange potatoes), the cranberries for the sauce that would live in the freezer for a few days anyway, while the flavors matured.

Olivia talked him into making bread again. A rosemary and sage filled dough from her mother-in-law's book.

"I'm still making a proper stuffing," she said, meaning the cornbread stuffing she'd made every year for as long as he could remember. "But Maria misses her grandmother's version. And I can make that too, if we have the bread for it."

"Will you show me the rest of it?"

Olivia ruffled his hair, her smile only slightly too sharp to be human. "Of course."

\-----

"You get _two_ stuffings?" Stiles complained the next day at Tinge, bumping his shoulder against Derek's as they drew. "No fair."

"I'd offer to save you some," Derek offered, adding a flourish to the hat Stiles had decided to put on his ostrich. "But I'm not sure it'll be possible."

"We should just make stuffing, like, once a month," Stiles pouted, starting to draw in--shoes? On an ostrich. because why not. "It's the best food."

"You'd let your dad eat that?"

"Shut up with your logic," Stiles muttered, adding some light shading to the puffy bows he'd given the ostrich-shoes instead of laces. "You're free after work today, right?"

Derek snorted and started drawing in another ostrich body, so he could factor a purse strap in. "Not really," he said, just to watch Stiles start to deflate then eye him suspiciously over what he was getting from the bond. Derek tilted his head down, hiding his smile. "I was hoping to spend the day with my boyfriend, actually."

Stiles grinned, nearly as bright as the delight that burst between them. (Derek pushed the sketchbook toward Stiles and pulled out his own personal book. Started trying to figure out how to incorporate starbursts and spirals like that on paper.)

"Good," Stiles said, easily taking the sketchbook and continuing Derek's work on the ostrich, purse and all. "So. You remember what today is, right?" And--what? "I mean, you're the one that told me and Dad."

Derek lifted his pencil from the paper to turn a baffled stare on Stiles, who rolled his eyes with a suppressed laugh. "Dude. It's Greg's birthday in a few days, right? So it's--"

"It's the eighteenth," he realized, as Stiles flushed, nodding. "It's been a year."

"Since we met, yeah," Stiles agreed. "Not that we knew each other that well back then, but."

"Yeah."

And--he hadn't exactly prepared for an anniversary. But. "So. Did you have something in mind, or..?"

Stiles shrugged, rolling a pencil between his fingers. "Honestly, I was just thinking Floyd's and more drawing time."

"Sounds good."

Sounded perfect.

\-----

"Two stuffings," Peter groused, glaring at the sacks he was unloading onto the counter. "Three potato dishes plus sweet potatoes, two turkeys and only two _ovens_."

Derek kept his eyes down on the tray of cranberries he was sorting through, picking out the ones that were squishy in the wrong way, starting to dry out, or just smelled off. He had a task and he was keeping to it.

"Only two ovens," David agreed, tossing an orange to Peter. "But they're big ovens, and if the turkeys are as close as they sound like, we'll be able to cook them in the same one. Everything else that actually needs the ovens will either cook all at once, or we can cook them the day before. Just like last year," he concluded with an eye roll. "And the pies will go in the oven once everything else comes out. It'll be fine."

"You say that now," Peter muttered, dire as he always was around the holidays.

His family. What even.

\-----

Danielle was actually _dropped off_ by her friends. They drove all the way out of their way to get to the house back in the woods instead of just leaving her at the Denny's in town as originally planned. (Which was an easy run home for Danielle, and for her friends was a nice, well lit, public space she could be picked up from.)

They also needed to borrow a restroom, which might have been part of the impetus behind the change in plans.

Their presence made things a bit awkward, with Danielle faceplanting into Maria's chest and refusing to budge until her friends had finished with their business and come out to say their goodbyes.

It was easier once the strangers left. Once they didn't have to pretend. Could just crowd in and smother Danielle in touch and scent and pack.

Derek didn't let himself think about how she'd be leaving in a few days. How he wouldn't see her again until Christmas. How it would be even _longer_ the next time.

(Didn't let himself think about the next year at all, when it was _him_ who'd probably be leaving.)

\-----

Paul's bird beat Peter's out by just over a pound. Small enough they'd be able to cook together, but large enough that Peter had to make an extra apple pie for the meal.

(Much as he liked George, Derek always rooted for Paul's turkey connection. Apple was his favorite.)

\-----

"Holy wow," Laura muttered, hefting one of the turkeys out of the rinsing bin with one hand under either wing, like it was a toddler. "Dinosaurs really _did_ once roam the earth."

"You say that every year," Danielle muttered, carefully counting peppercorns out onto the kitchen scale for the second brine solution. "Just dunk it, already. They're not even that big, compared to the stuff in the stores."

"Yeah, but those taste funky," Laura said, as though that had _anything to do_ with their conversation. "So I never get to see them in all their naked glory."

Laura finally lowered her turkey into its herb and salt water bath then went to get the second turkey for rinsing.

Derek just ignored his sisters and kept breaking bay leaves into halves and thirds. He had a lot of practice at it. (The ignoring, at least. The bay leaves were more of an occasional thing.)

\-----

When Derek went downstairs to get the ovens preheating the next morning, he found Olivia sipping a cup of tea at the kitchen table, idly watching the pile of sleeping kittens conked out on top of the coolers the brining turkeys were in.

"Good thing they don't understand how latches work, huh?" She offered cheerfully.

"--right."

\-----

Keeping the kittens away from the turkeys and assorted organs Peter was using for the gravy was only slightly more irritating than keeping his mother's fingers out of everything. After all, the _kittens_ were mostly still leery of Peter.

Not so much with his mom.

(He stopped trying to keep them separate, after what felt like the tenth time he caught movement at the edge of his field of vision. Just turned around with the sharp 'tst' noise they'd picked up from Tania, for dealing with the cats.)

(Thankfully, his mom thought it was hilarious.)

\-----

Derek actually did manage to save some stuffing for Stiles. By being a good kitchen assistant and Peter allowing him to dish a decent sized serving of each into a tupperware container _before_ the dishes went out to the family.

"It makes for a better presentation anyway," Peter shrugged, turning back to scoring the second round of dinner rolls with a claw. "And he's pack. It's only right."

Sometimes, Peter was okay.

\-----

It was a pretty typical Hale Thanksgiving. His mother teared up when she smelled her grandmother's stuffing, but diplomatically took equal amounts of it and her mother's. (Personally, Derek liked Olivia's cornbread stuffing more, but he didn't mind knowing how to make them both.) Both turkeys were glorious, and by ten minutes into the meal, everyone except Peter and Paul had mostly lost track of which one was which.

There were potatoes: scalloped, mashed, and roasted with onions and peppers (and one tiny baked potato, for Greg). There were yams (or sweet potatoes), green beans with venison, brussels sprouts roasted with maple syrup and butter, some onion thing Peter had insisted on trying (they looked like they thought 'prune' was a valid life choice for an onion, but tasted amazing--Jacob got the last one even though Tania and Paul had been having a silent argument across the table over it, because he was tiny and adorable and knew it).

And of course the pies. Two pumpkin, two apple, one pecan, and one mishmash monstrosity. A half-pumpkin, half-pecan thing that Derek wouldn't have ever thought would work but was the first thing to disappear, once they got to dessert.

"So," Peter drawled, blinking bemusedly as Laura squinted at the remaining pies and tried combining thin slices of pumpkin and pecan on her plate. "I take it I should do that again next year."

"Make three next time," Maria said, swiping a finger over her dessert plate.

Paul snorted and served himself another slice of apple.

\-----

Derek took Stiles the stuffing on Friday. Smiled at the excited uptick of joy across the bond when Stiles felt him coming. Smiled again when Stiles pulled him inside to greet him with a kiss.

And--someone's father was just down the hall, so they left it at that.

"I brought you stuffing," Derek admitted, when Stiles let him go again. "Both kinds. Peter let me grab some for you before the meal."

"Scoooore," Stiles beamed, grabbing the tupperware and bouncing into the kitchen. "Uh. So. You guys don't normally have much, for leftovers?"   
Derek snorted, rubbing a hand over his hair. "We usually only eat dinner, for Thanksgiving. So--"

Stiles shoved the leftovers into the fridge and straightened up to give him an incredulous look. "Do you have _any_ leftovers?"

"About half a pound of turkey," Derek admitted. "And some of the roasted potatoes. But that's it."

"...do you want more?" Stiles offered, grimacing. "We had a bit of a miscommunication and ended up with, like, _way_ too much turkey."

Too much turkey was apparently an entire turkey too much. Derek--wasn't going to ask how that even _happened_. Just laid claim to half the plastic boxes Stiles had crammed into their fridge.

He was just being helpful. Really.

\-----

They kept Tinge closed over the long weekend, which wasn't normal but was necessary. 

Tony always went to visit family wherever the biggest or least mobile knot of them had wound up (Minnesota that year), which meant everyone else ended up working straight through. Usually.

If Cara was going to get the bite right after the full moon, though, they needed to get the rest of their stuff moved in. And nothing said love or 'easy moving experience' like free werewolf labor.

"You can tell they work out, huh?" Cara asked one of their neighbors, sounding cheerful but anxious underneath, as Derek and Paul maneuvered a filing cabinet down the stairs.

And--right. Humans probably would have taken the drawers out, or at least emptied them.

Whoops.

They got everything down into the flatbed from Paul's nursery in good time, though. Even if Cara did sulk when they made an extra stop to drop the hell couch off at a thrift store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tattoo Artist of the Week:** [Shaded Lady Tattoos](https://m.facebook.com/pages/Shaded-Lady-Tattoos/140031159343060?id=140031159343060&_rdr) in Falmouth UK, at the suggestion of CivilEngineers. I was sad that I wasn't able to find a non-facebook website for them, but googling the parlor name will get you plenty of results of people showing off their tattoos. It's just a little hard to link to.
> 
> In case the _Nightmare Before Christmas_ bit went over your head, [have a link to the video of the opening song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M6WZGeVppI8). It's a delightful movie and a longtime favorite of mine and the enigmatic roommate's. Particularly when we aren't feeling well.
> 
> The onions Peter served are [these](http://rouxbe.com/recipes/1188-roasted-cipollini-onions/text), and were included because my aunt made them for last Thanksgiving, and they were freaking amazing. Hers turned out a lot darker than the images for this recipe, but it's the same recipe. So I don't know? Don't freak out if you decide to try the recipe and your onions come out looking like they're trying to be prunes. It might be a good sign.
> 
> As for the pie? It's based on yet another of enigmatic roommate's family recipes. They do a sweet potato macadamia nut pie, which is essentially half sweet potato pie and half a macadamia nut version of a typical pecan pie. I imagine making a little extra pumpkin pie filling then (carefully!) spoon in some extra pecan pie filling over the top. The trick is to not just dump the nut layer in, as otherwise they could get mixed. If you want an actual recipe, try googling 'pumpkin pecan pie'. I found a few variations that look good, but haven't tried any of them out.
> 
> (Pro tip? If you like a hint of alcohol with your pie, try instant vanilla pudding made with milk/cream instead of water, spiked with rum to taste. It makes an absolutely amazing sauce for this kind of pie.)


	67. tiny, twitchy, crunchy things

" _You_ do not get to be grumpy," Stiles said during their becoming-habitual Monday evening phone call, sounding irritable and small and too far away. "It's your fault you haven't seen me since Friday."

Derek ran his free hand over his face, biting back a growl. "I'm not sure it's fair to say it's my fault."

"Your family, your fault," Stiles muttered, and Derek didn't need to be able to see him, to feel him, to know he was pouting.

His _mate_.

"My cousins needed help moving," Derek pointed out patiently. "And I'm not going to get to see Danielle for a month. Also, I don't think _I'm_ the one being grumpy"

"I didn't have any say in the not seeing each other thing, so I get to be grumpy."

That-- Derek sighed, because he couldn't really argue with that. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Wednesday too," Stiles said, suddenly cheerful again. "Deaton gave me extra homework and said I should skip Wednesday, so I'll be able to come over. What is _with_ full moons landing on my busy days, though? Geeze."

Derek snorted, ducking under a branch--more out of habit than seeing it, but he was used to _running_ this route not walking it. It threw his timing off and he straightened up just in time to walk right into it. 

"What was--?"

"Nothing," Derek cut in, brushing dirt off his forehead and ducking under the branch for _real_ this time. "I'm glad you'll be here for the moon, though."

"Ahunh," Stiles muttered, and Derek didn't need the bond to get a sense of Stiles' disbelief. "But yeah, anyway. Is it still okay if Dad comes too?"

"Encouraged," Derek assured him. "We'd love to have him, and he doesn't have to run. He could stay home with Niq, Erin, and the shotgun."

"--it's so sad that I think that'd be a selling point."

Derek grinned and brushed his fingers against the next branch, high enough he didn't have to duck. "Well it's not like we can leave the humans and human kids defenseless." And there was nothing like a gunshot to tell Tania, down in the basement with Greg and the rest of the kids, that she needed to get upstairs. To call the whole pack home. "And if Niq doesn't need him for baby duty, Matt might run with us."

"I'll talk to Dad," Stiles promised. "But he's got that night off, supposedly."

"Good. Speaking of talking to your dad, though," Derek let his words trail off as Stiles groaned.

"Now what?"

"Christmas. Before I forget to ask. How do you two normally--?"

Stiles snorted, his chair squeaking under him at some movement. "Well, there's the manly bonding ritual of nearly killing ourselves putting lights up, and arguing about which string of lights is long enough or too long for a particular thing." Stiles' _voice_ was practically rolling its eyes. "That'll start in a week or two. Mid-month-ish. Whenever Mr. Lopez starts putting his up, usually. Then it's the celebration of 'no you can't look in this bag', which is mostly Dad's responsibility, since I've had his present wrapped since, like, August. Dad's such a slacker."

"Why am I thinking you're the kind of person who'd buy their own presents?" Derek mused, smiling when Stiles laughed and veering off course, nearly walking into a bush.

Damn forest.

"Okay, yeah, _maybe_ ," Stiles admitted. "But it's not like it was on purpose! And it only happened, uh, three times. So."

"Uh-huh." And--he was going to need to think about that. What to get Stiles. "So what do you two do Christmas Eve?"

"Uh. Watch crappy movies on TV?" Stiles sounded baffled. Which--what? "We mostly do Christmas morning stuff. Scott and I usually hang out, but that all depends on when our parents are working. What are you planning to invite us to this time?"

Derek snorted. Good thing he wasn't trying to be subtle. "We do a big dinner for Christmas Eve. Danielle will be home, and so will Vic's brother, and--"

"Dude, I didn't even know Vic _had_ a brother."

"He's studying in Germany," Derek sighed. "Christmas is the only time he comes home. But if you and your dad want--"

"No, yeah, that could work," Stiles said, his voice grinning. "We don't really do anything the night before, so I should be able to talk Dad into that. And hey, if he ends up working part of the day on Christmas, could I--"

"Of course."

"Awesome. I'll--Ah!" 

There was an ominous squeak, then a crash and a too-loud clattering that made Derek pull the phone away from his head for a moment. "Stiles?" No answer. "Stiles!"

There was a muffled "Shit" somewhere in the background, then another thump and a short scrape and Stiles was breathing heavily on the other side of the line. "Can we pretend that didn't happen?"

"Sure."

\-----

Pitch took to sleeping in Derek's room, so Derek took to sleeping with his door cracked open.

Near as he could tell, _all_ of the kittens were suddenly sleeping upstairs. Sometimes curling up with their preferred people at night, sometimes conked out randomly in the middle of the hall, sometimes lurking in the bathroom sink for maximum surprise factor first thing in the morning (Stitch was the _worst_ , seriously). 

It didn't really surprise him. They'd aired out Vic and Cara's room as much as they could, after painting, but with all the movement in and out, now-- Downstairs smelled like paint, and probably would for a while. Derek wouldn't want to sleep down there either.

\-----

Derek had to work Wednesday morning. It was worth it for having the day _after_ off and it helped to not be too obvious about the lunar connection, but--

It didn't make it easy to focus on all the little points to a hedgehog tattoo.

Or the fur-shading for the rat he did after. Or what his customer was saying, during a consult for a rabbit-themed tattoo and _why_ did all the artwork have to be tiny, twitchy, crunchy things?

(He tried to remind himself that they were also potentially pets, but it was a bad day for it.)

(It was a bad day for fielding questions from Tony too, but there wasn't much for that either. Cara hadn't told him much about why she was going to be taking extra time off that month, just brushed it off as a medical thing and TMI, and it was like she'd forgotten everything about what Tony was like, because Tony had never, in Derek's memory, met anything he actually thought was too much information.)

\-----

Derek was outside, waiting, after school let out. Walked to the end of the block in Stiles' direction and stationed himself in a loading zone so he'd be easily seen.

Not that Stiles really needed to _see_ him. Derek could feel that he was laughing before he was halfway down the block.

He still pulled over to pick Derek up, though, so Derek wasn't going to hold it against him.

"Long day?" Stiles asked, more amusement than sympathy in his voice and the bond as he checked for traffic and pulled back out into the road.

"Day full of drawing things I'd rather be biting," Derek complained, slumping down and letting out a happy rumble at how much stronger Stiles' scent was, there. Closer to the seat. "Day full of _people_ I'd rather be biting."

"Hey, now. I'd better be the only person you're planning on biting, from now on," Stiles complained, eyes flicking over potential cross-traffic, along the sidewalks for pedestrians, back to the road and abruptly going wide, catching up to what he'd just said. "I, uh-- I mean--"

"--in a nice way, yeah," Derek admitted, and grinned to himself at the flush that started spreading over the back of Stiles' neck. The sudden spike of musk in the car. "I meant more in the obnoxious-sibling sort of sense, though."

"Yeah, okay," Stiles said, eyes twitching over the road in a way that felt like a desperate attempt to keep from looking at Derek. "That's--fine."

Derek hummed, twisting in his seat to face Stiles a bit more. "Tell me more about the kind of biting _you_ meant."

The Jeep twitched, not quite swerving as Stiles groaned. "You are the _worst_."

The Jeep smelled of apple-spice-musk the entire drive home.

\-----

"Okay, I wasn't expecting this."

That was John. Somewhere up-ish, from his current standpoint. So--probably under Laura's legs since she was practically sitting on his head. Stiles was laughing, though, book jiggling against Derek's thigh and petting his side. "Yeah. It's nice though, right? And you've gotta admit, I am getting _loads_ of homework done."

"Because you're being held hostage by cuddly werewolves," John pointed out, sounding disbelieving and--slightly uncomfortable, but also amused. Hopefully all of that evened out alright.

"Glad I told you to bring a book now, aren'tcha."

John's sigh sounded more fond than anything, and Paul let out a happy rumble from his other side.

\-----

John didn't run with them, but he did come out to the porch to watch them leave. Didn't startle when they howled, just held his mug of cider closer to his chest.

Stiles didn't howl with them, not out loud, but Derek could feel his joy mixing with theirs, racing up into the sky, chasing after the moon.

\-----

Derek didn't remember much about that night either. Woke up a few hours before dawn stretched out on the couch, his head in Stiles' lap and Stiles conked out on his dad's shoulder.

He couldn't feel John, had no direct bonds with him, but--

John was awake and relaxed. Smelled like soft-spices, family, and gun oil.

But mostly, he'd stayed.

Derek nosed into Stiles' thigh and let himself drift off again.

\-----

"--mess up your Christmas?"

Derek hesitated just inside the backdoor at Tinge, tempted to just wait and listen in, but--

But Stiles and Vic both spiked amusement and fond irritation and it was definitely aimed at him, so it wasn't like he'd get away with it anyway. He let the door fall shut. Went to put his things up.

"It won't," Stiles answered, after a pause. "Dad and I are usually more Christmas morning people anyway," he continued, but--it felt like a change in topic. Why? "I've mentioned it to him, but he hasn't actually agreed to anything yet. I'll bug him again tonight, though."

"Eeeeexcellent."

Derek smiled at the spike of delight Vic gave off and waved in Tony's direction as he cut through the parlor on his way to the bathroom to change. (Didn't wave at Cara, who was head-down and intent over her work and facing the wrong direction anyway.)

They'd still changed the subject when he came in. He wasn't forgetting that.

\-----

He made his way out to the front just in time for Vic's next appointment to show up. She smiled them into the back and added an extra bit of innocent twinkle when she glanced over at him. He tried to give her a glare that said they'd talk later, but it just made Vic snicker.

His life.

Stiles was looking at the appointment book when Derek turned his way. Looking at the appointment book with shaking shoulders and a bitten lip that suggested his attention wasn't anywhere on the actual book.

It was--irritating, honestly, and Stiles finally looked up. "Sorry. Just--you're kinda rocking the petulant grumpy and it feels really funny."

"Whatever," Derek sighed, squeezing around his mate so he could get the register set up the way he wanted it. He only had two appointments, and a handful of consultations that probably wouldn't take any time at all. Until Cara took her 'vacation', he was going to be spending a _lot_ of time at the register. "Are we really keeping secrets again?"

Stiles grimaced, but--nodded? What the hell. "Uh, yeah. Sorry? It's not really-- It's not _my_ secret. I'm helping Vic out with a surprise for the family." He shrugged one shoulder, not feeling repentant but--concerned. About Derek. "It's a present. It's supposed to be a surprise."

He huffed, but couldn't really argue with that. (Giving in was worth the smile Stiles gave him, regardless.)

"Fine," he offered needlessly. "You said you had some new sketches for me, last night."

Stiles bobbed and hauled his bag up to go digging for a sketchbook. "Yeah. You said you were gonna do more abstracts for me to read? We can trade."

It was the green sketchbook that came out, so figure studies and people watching. As ever and always. (Eventually, Stiles was going to have to draw a building and would realize people weren't the _only_ big challenge he'd have to figure out, as an artist.)

Derek slid the folder of abstracts across the counter and took the sketchbook. Settled in to critique form and proportion while Stiles dug out the red book and started re-creating Derek's paintings in pencil.

They never looked the same, more often than not Stiles' versions looked _completely different_ than what he'd started with, but they _felt_ the same. And Stiles was hardly ever wrong about what the shapes and shading meant, anymore. Even when he hadn't seen them before.

It was kind of awesome.

(His figures were getting better, too. The arms still connected wrong, looked a bit stilted, but he was expressing motion with legs, now. Was getting the curve and movement of the spine right, and his heads in proportion regularly, even if he wasn't quite there on faces yet. It was amateurish, yeah, but stupidly good for someone who hadn't even been drawing seriously for a year, yet.)

\-----

Cara's schedule had been twisted around into pretzel shapes. That first week in December, she was working as often as she could, dense with all the re-scheduled appointments they were able to cram in to free up the rest of the month.

The night of the sixth, Derek sat by Cara's feet and pressed calm affection as hard as he could against the throbbing unease she was leaking all over the pack bonds. Watched as his mother laughed, pushing Cara's sleeves up, then hiking up her skirt, then her shirt.

"Oh, finally. Can I bite here?" Maria asked, pointing at the front of Cara's hip. "There won't be a scar, but I don't know what'll happen if I bite over a tattoo."

"Why didn't we think of that earlier?" Vic sighed, pulling a giggling and nodding Cara over into her lap to stretch her side out so Maria could get at it easier. 

Cara grinned up at her, expression strained and brittle but-- She didn't feel like second thoughts. Didn't feel like she'd changed her mind. "Because that would be crazy? Werewolves don't exist."

"Tattoo artists don't exist," his mother snorted, then leaned over Cara's exposed side and Derek reached up to help hold her in place. 

It was just like someone getting their first tattoo. The thought and the reality were different, and Cara had no way of knowing how her body was going to react, when the pain hit.

She tried to writhe away, even after the bite was done and Maria had backed off, red-mouthed and reaching for Cara's ankle to take some of the pain. 

Derek watched the black creep under his own skin and wished they could do more.

\-----

"How's Cara?" Stiles asked the next day, as soon as Derek had the Jeep door closed behind him, and Derek kind of wanted to--

Stiles flicked him on the nose. "Hey, focus. Cara?"

Derek huffed at him and pulled his seat belt on. "She's doing well. The mark was gone this morning. No signs of her body rejecting the bite."

"Wh-- Seriously, that's it?" Stiles leaned forward, thumping his head against the steering wheel before straightening up and turning to check traffic. "Just--bite, and the next day it's healed?"

Derek waited until Stiles had gotten them away from the curb and moving. "Pretty much. It either takes or it doesn't, and Grandmother said we'd know within a few hours if it wasn't."

Stiles made a thoughtful noise at that, eyes flicking rapidly over the general absence of traffic. "Guess you guys don't have a lot of experience with that, right? Tania, your dad, and your grandma, right? And now Cara."

"Yes and no," he hedged, letting himself sink into the seat a bit. "There were others before I was born. Vic's grandmother, she was--the wife of my mother's uncle. She died from the bite."

"Is that why Vic stayed human?"

Derek snorted and shrugged. "I don't think Mom would bite Vic or Edward because of that, but I don't know their reasons for not asking."

He'd never asked, before. It wasn't something he felt he needed to know.

(It was probably going to be the first thing out of Stiles' mouth when he met Edward. Because Stiles.)

"It is okay if I come over, right?" Stiles asked after a few moments. "I mean, Cara's not going to try and eat my face or anything?"

Derek shook his head, half in answer but mostly just at Stiles. "No more than normal. She has the healing and Vic said her hearing and smell have been all over the place, but she won't be able to shift yet."

"When will that happen?"

Derek shrugged again, and grinned at the rude noise Stiles made. "It depends on the person and the circumstances. Tania took a week before she even flashed her eyes at anybody and didn't shift until nearly the full moon, but she-- She said she felt safe."

And that was a feeling Cara had never really had an abundance of.

\-----

By the time they hit the clearing around the house, Derek could _feel_ that Cara wasn't going to be a problem.

"Oh my god," Stiles choked out, blinking rapidly as he pulled the Jeep in next to Peter's minivan and parked. "Is she _stoned_?"

"Just happy," Derek guessed, already tracking Cara's eager focus in case she came barreling out to greet them. (He could take the brunt of that, but Stiles--) "She'll be able to feel the pack bonds better, now, and--"

Stiles waved him off before getting out of the Jeep. "No, no, I get it. It's been a mellow, lovey day in the Hale house."

Cara met them at the door, all gentle hugs and _wrong_ smelling (more petrichor than metal, he'd get used to it), shoving her face into Derek's neck then Stiles', giggling the whole time.

"You smell awesome," she sighed when she finally detached from Stiles--just long enough to let him finish getting out of his shoes, so she could tug them both toward the couches in the main room. "I mean. You smell like people, which is still weird, but also kind of like eggplants."

Stiles tossed a baffled look his way and Derek had to shrug again. "We all smell things differently. It's weird."

They ended up sprawled out on the couch, with Cara flopped over their laps, nose pressed into Derek's stomach and radiating gleeful contentment.

She didn't let them up until dinner, but it didn't feel like Stiles minded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tattoo Artist of the Week:** [L' Art du Pont](http://www.lartdupoint.com/), located in Brussels, Belgium. There's a decent gallery of their stuff [on tattrx](http://tattrx.tumblr.com/tagged/lart-du-point), but sadly not on their own page (why do they torment me so?). This is a favorite parlor of the enigmatic roommate's (by the art, not personal experience, sadly), and she also gave me [this link](https://www.flickr.com/photos/skydelartdupoint/sets/72157625909661107), which we _think_ is the flickr page of one of (?) the artists.
> 
> As a heads up, there are some inconsistencies in this chapter versus previous text. One regarding Hale family history is something I'll need to straighten out on the editing run, but the one regarding Stiles' memory is simply Stiles not remembering something that wasn't a big deal to him at the time. It's exactly the kind of thing a few of the more detail oriented re-readers might notice though, so I wanted to give y'all a heads up that I've already got my eye on them. ;)
> 
> This isn't my favorite chapter, and I'd love to expand on it. I just didn't have time this week. Hopefully it's still enjoyable.


	68. What did you do?

"How's Cara?"

Derek raised his eyebrows as he finished filling out the lines in a feather, keeping his eyes down and smirking when Stiles huffed and dropped into his stool. "C'mooon."

Tony was on the other side of the register wall, though. Taking a lot longer than he needed to get the supplies to clean his station.

"There aren't any side effects I've heard about, so far," Derek settled on, once the feather was filled in enough that he felt he could look up without losing where he was. (Once he was sure Tony wasn't going to move until he'd answered.) "No real way of knowing yet, but you can come over and ask her yourself. Again."

Stiles frowned at him for a moment before understanding lit up his face, and Derek's fingers itched for--not a pencil, he _had_ a pencil. The appropriate sketchbook. "Oh. Well. Good."

"I'm thinking of putting a sign up," Derek remarked idly, flicking the butt end of his pencil playfully toward Stiles' nose. "So I won't have to answer that question anymore."

"Please," Stiles snorted before reaching over to snag his sketchbook, twisting it his way so he could see the rain of feathers and the mockery of a wing they came from. (It wasn't his fault, the customer had wanted that kind of stylization, anatomy be damned.) "You could spray paint it over the windows that Cara was doing fine, and you'd just have more people coming in to ask nosy questions."

It was true. He hadn't even known Cara knew the other shop owners in the area that well, until it seemed like half of them were traipsing through their door to ask after her. 

And that was just their neighbors. Didn't touch on any of her customers, regular or not.

"She is obnoxiously social," Derek agreed and sighed with relief as Tony finally walked away, back toward the station he'd been working at last. He was out of earshot, but Derek leaned in close to Stiles anyway, reveling in his shiver when Derek whispered against his ear, "She's fine. A little stir crazy and sketching like a fiend, but she's adjusting well. She's started showing some signs of the shift, though, so she has to stick close to the wolves in the family until she's got a grip on it."

Which did _not_ make for a happy Cara, but whatever. Better than her accidentally mauling someone.

"Suck," Stiles breathed, bumping their shoulders together. "She'll be okay, though?"

"Should be."

Stiles huffed, pulling back with a lopsided grin. "Alright. I'll stop asking, then. But you need to tell me if anything important comes up."

"I promise."

\-----

When Stiles dropped him off that night, they got to watch Peter hauling Gwen out into the woods, dangling upside-down over his arm, claws scrabbling for the ground and whining "But she smells _weird_."

Stiles gaped, turning his head toward the house to watch as Jacob and Stacia trotted out after their stray cousin and uncle, calm as could be. "What--"

Derek just wanted to thunk his head against the dashboard. Gwen was _never_ going to normal school, at this rate.

(Cara was okay. More amused than anything, really. Gwen hadn't tried to hurt her, just shifted and growled a bit then run for her dad. Which--was at least an improvement.)

\-----

Sunday morning, Vic was doing a quick touchup for one of Cara's regulars and patiently going through the whole roundabout inquisition about how Cara was doing, Tony was running late, and Derek was left having to smile and pretend to be friendly at the woman who walked in. She looked vaguely familiar. Lit up and practically _skipped_ to the counter when she saw him.

"Hey! Just who I wanted to see," she chirped, and Derek--was confused. Didn't remember her. "I want more bats."

And--what.

"Or, well, one more bat," the woman continued, not noticing anything weird about his silence or whatever his face was probably doing. "I came back in after everything was healed and the dark-haired lady who took the photo showed me another sketch you did? With this really horrible rose-thing in the background, and looking all sad and grumpy and--"

\--and _morose_. This was not-morose bats.

"And oh my god. You know, like, eighty million people, don't you. Here, I--" Her words were muffled, because she was already turning around and pulling her shirt up in back, craning her head down. 

And yeah. Happy bats.

"No, it's fine," Derek tried, reaching out to tug down on her hem. Not sure if she'd forgotten where the tattoo ended or if she was planning on taking the shirt _off_. "I remember now."

"Oh good," Bats sighed, turning around with a grin. "But yeah. I've been thinking about it since then, and I should probably wait longer? But I really want a grumpy bat, now."

"You want a grumpy bat," Derek found himself repeating, while she nodded, grin stretching.

"Uh-huh. More angry than sad, though. With a rose in its mouth."

Because of course.

\-----

Stiles was there right on time to pick him up after work, even though they hadn't really discussed it. Had laughed at the bats dancing over the pages of Derek's sketchbook before shooing him toward the back.

"I've made a decision," he said, claiming Vic's stool (again) and rolling it over to the doorway into the employee-nook so he could watch as Derek gathered up his things. "But it involves you, so you need to agree to it before it's actually decided."

His mate. What even.

Derek shrugged into his jacket and pulled his bag down, shoving the sketchbooks he'd had with him at the register away and zipping the whole mess shut. "Okay. What am I agreeing to?"

"You don't have any late Sunday shifts through January, so I say we make Sunday date night. So we can just assume we're doing something then, just the two of us, and will have to warn each other if something else comes up."

"Are you _still_ complaining about last week?" Derek tried to hold back an eye roll. Didn't know why he bothered when Stiles just glared narrowly at him anyway. 

"No," Stiles huffed, in a way that really sounded like 'yes'. "I'm being proactive in making sure we don't have that kind of miscommunication again."

Derek finally got everything stowed and secured and picked up, so Stiles bounced up off the stool and sent it rolling back toward where he'd grabbed it from and followed Derek out the back. "But really, Sundays make sense. You don't have late shifts, I'll generally be caught up on my work by then, I don't have lessons with Deaton--it's the _only_ time we can legitimately set aside for each other, and I think we should."

"Okay," Derek agreed, reaching out to hook a finger through one of Stiles' belt loops while they walked.

The relief in Stiles was palpable. Even without the bond, it was there in the way his shoulders slumped, his gate loosened and slowed to match Derek's better. "Okay, cool. Agreed, then."

"Did you think I wouldn't?"

"No. Just--" Stiles sighed and it sounded like he was disgruntled with his breath just for existing. "There's so much going on, it feels like I barely get to see you anymore. When it's just the two of us, I mean."

Fair.

"Sundays will just be for us, then."

That sounded--good.

(Time just for them was harder to figure out than it should have been, though. Stiles' dad was on an early shift, so neither of their houses were really an option. Neither of them really felt like making out in the Jeep, out somewhere on the Preserve, so they ended up at the library, at a mostly ignored table with a sketchbook between them, trading lines and shading and quiet words about their lives and futures.)

\-----

It was kind of a crazy week.

The first time Cara's claws came out, it was the middle of the night and she wasn't awake enough to distinguish between 'shadow in the corner' and 'threat to mate'. 

Cara shifted the first time trying to protect Vic from a shadow in the corner of their room. It wasn't a full shift, just enough to be dangerous. She didn't hurt anything except a blanket (and, really, they were using the old linens that normally only went on the mattresses in the basement for a _reason_ ) and pulled herself back in reasonable time, her face buried between Vic's breasts and, apparently, going over sterilization procedures and the rules for perspective and vanishing points in her head.

It didn't really surprise anyone that it looked like she was going to anchor on her vocation. Tania had been the same way, reaching for symptoms, medicine names, and contraindications to keep herself anchored in her skin.

Derek found himself roped into another Stilinski family dinner, as well as helping them put up Christmas lights. He couldn't bring himself to regret it, even with John and Stiles bickering about he was doing everything even _more_ wrong than each other, because their ladder was a legitimate death trap and at least _he'd_ survive it when he fell.

(Breaking it at the end of the night was absolutely not intentional, no matter that Stiles thought he was too calm and gleeful for it to have been an accident. John didn't care, thankfully, so long as it was replaced.)

He also learned that Stiles had made enough progress that Alan was cutting their lessons back to once or twice a week. (Which might have been part of the reason the ladder died. He'd have been much more subtle about it if Stiles hadn't broken that news while he was trying to get the damn thing to fold up again. But it was still absolutely an accident.)

Patch got over her distaste for downstairs and started sleeping in Vic and Cara's bed. It was hysterical that such a small thing made his mother irritable and sad, even after her husband pointed out that she wasn't _in_ her bed half the night. That Patch still loved her lap best, when she sat still long enough that the cat could take advantage of it.

(Because they were cats, abruptly. Not grown, not yet, but long legged and lanky and clearly no longer quite kittens.)

Gwen got over Cara smelling weird and took to settling near to her with whatever homework the adults had assigned. And suddenly, Derek found himself walking in on them talking quietly about scents and how it was different for humans, or prey drive, or how to recognize family, _pack_ , when in the middle of a fit.

It was weird, but it seemed to be helping.

(Jacob was taking longer to adjust to the change, but that might have just been because he didn't like how close Gwen and Cara were getting. Stacia didn't seem to notice a difference, even though she had to feel it.)

Then suddenly, it was the fifteenth and Danielle was home again, smelling less-wrong than she had at Thanksgiving and practically bowling Cara over in her excitement. (Maria had sighed patiently and pulled her daughter off of her newest beta, to remind her about the differences between bitten and born werewolves, and that Cara hadn't been through a full moon, yet. Hadn't had a full shift, and was still kind of hit or miss when it came to how strong she was at any point in time.)

Sunday was the last day Tinge was open as normal. Finally starting their normal appointments-only schedule for the holidays.

Stiles broke his own rule that night, dragging Derek back to the house after work and insisting that date night could wait until _after_ Derek had reassured himself that Dani was still there. Hadn't left when he wasn't looking.

(He had the best mate.)

\-----

They got their date time in Derek's room, radio turned up, playing with Pitch and one of the Scritch-Scratches (this one had more white in her cheeks, and broader stripes along her back, and they were going to have to actually name them soon). Because even with the radio, Stiles started squirming in embarrassment, his scent picking up a sour undertone, if they did more than kiss.

So they played with the cats, and Derek let Stiles kick his shins.

\-----

"See you tomorrow?" Derek pressed against Stiles' cheek, reveling in the scent of his mate, frustrated in the _best_ way. (And for once, it was entirely his own fault, so Derek didn't even have to feel guilty about it.)

"Eeh," Stiles deflated, slumping and letting his head thunk against Derek's shoulder. Which--what? "Tomorrow night," Stiles said, and--what?

"But you're on break, and you said you aren't doing Mondays with Alan anymore."

Stiles sighed, lifting his head just enough to let it thunk down into Derek's shoulder again. "I know. Sorry. I have stuff I need to get done tomorrow. Tree shopping with my dad and other Christmas stuff." He lifted his head, smiling wryly. "I'll come over for dinner, though. Dad's working a late shift."

There was something Stiles wasn't telling him. Derek could feel it, a soft pressure in Stiles' chest that felt like lies. But--

"Okay," Derek agreed, ducking in to steal a kiss. "I'll see you tomorrow night."

He was going to trust Stiles. Hoped the lopsided grin he got for it was worth it.

\-----

He spent Monday in the kitchen with Danielle and Matt, walking them through baking a few loaves of bread and listening to Danielle ramble about college. About dating her school's mascot, the kitchenette wizardry of her boyfriend's roommate and the amazing meals he'd pulled together for them out of a rice cooker, her frustration with having to take English classes, the time she'd been sent to the nurse because she'd dug her claws into her palms to keep from growling at a classmate and hadn't been able to hide the blood fast enough.

None of the cats disturbed them, which was a minor miracle (attributed to Saint Danielle, who was going to get put on litter box duty soon if she didn't at least _try_ to make some progress with the cats). Peter made up for it, wandering in and out with Greg squealing happily in his sling and stealing their eggs or the salt or the _flour canister_ for no apparent reason.

Derek's parents took Vic and Cara out of town, to get Cara new clothes and give her a chance to walk around in public for a bit, under supervision. (Her pants were staying on, but only by dint of a belt. Vic had taken to coming up behind her, grabbing handfuls of her pants at either hip and using them to steer whenever Cara got distracted by a scent, a noise, a particularly interesting thought.)

(Personally, Derek attributed the fact that her tattoos hadn't distorted much to pack magic. Nothing else made sense.)

Olivia wandered out a little after lunch, sleep mussed and still waking up, with Stitch clinging wide eyed and alarmed to her shoulder. (Derek wasn't convinced she knew he was there. Knew she didn't when she went straight on down the hall to the mudroom. Matt had to chase after her to get the cat before she took Stitch outside with her.)

His family.

Vic, Cara and his parents got home about the same time as Niq and Paul staggered in with the rest of the kids. The terrors were suitably exhausted from whatever their outing had been, but Paul looked tight around the eyes and Niq made no bones about dragging her mate upstairs once the terrors were deposited safely in the main room and Erin was plopped unceremoniously in David's lap.

Stiles showed up just after five. Derek felt him, then heard the Jeep, then smiled at Cara's happy chirp of "Is that Stiles?"

Turned to pin Vic with a stare when she went gleeful and guilty all at once.

"Vic," his mother drawled, widening her eyes. "What did you do?"

"Nothing bad?" Vic tried, squirming out from under Cara and jogging toward the door.

Laura beat her there, slipping out the door and screeching delight before the door fully closed, feet hitting the ground past the porch with a sharp thud that suggested she was running already. But--

He felt it then. Saw the rest of his family tense up as the pack bonds solidified enough for them to feel the difference. 

"I was picking you up on Wednesday!" Laura screamed, out at the edge of the tree line where the Jeep ground to an abrupt halt. "Oh my god, you jerk!"

Almost everyone was outside by then. Watching as Laura hauled Edward out of Stiles' Jeep to pick him up in a hug. 

Vic groaned, covering her face with one hand but grinning all the while. "I just wanted to give him a chance to shower, and maybe show up with a little dignity for once, but no. Apparently that's not an option."

Derek snorted before he started running after his sister, because no, of _course_ it wasn't.

Edward smelled better than normal, when Derek pressed in against the tangle of Laura-Edward-Mom-Danielle. His hair was wet, he had Germany and strangers all over his clothes, but he didn't smell like airport. Smelled more like Stiles than stranger and that--

That was amazing. 

Stiles' delighted laughter and protests about not being able to park until the werewolfy reunion moved away from his passenger side door was amazing.

His family, his _mate_ , were all amazing.

(He was maybe a little stoned on 'happy', but he was okay with that.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No tattoo artist or food this week, sorry.
> 
> If you don't remember Edward, he's been mentioned quite a few times but has only actually appeared once. I believe in chapter 2, but I don't want to bet on it.
> 
> I mentioned this over on tumblr, but I actually have two WIPs in process right now. I generally let IM take priority but I am so very close to finishing the other story. As such, I'm going to focus on it this week instead of the next chapter of IM.
> 
> **There will be no update on May 12th. Updates will probably resume on May 19th.** If they don't resume as normal, it will just switch to an every-other-week schedule until I get this other project finished up.


	69. Is there even a job title for that?

"Sooo this is normal, when you come home?"

Stiles hit just the right side of mocking and Edward chuckled, jostling Laura's head and making her growl, soft and grumpy. "Yeah. This is actually way better than usual."

"Better how?" Stiles asked, doubtful and intrigued all at once. Because Stiles.

"I'm on a couch," Edward mumbled around a yawn. "We don't normally make it past the entryway."

There was a shuffle--someone's heel dug into Derek's side and he grumbled a little--before Edward yelped a protest and Danielle snarked, "Well, _normally_ you smell bad."

\-----

Derek was able to pull himself away from the pile after only half an hour. Let his grandmother take his place.

Stiles grinned up at him from the other couch, with Gwen and Jacob curled up against one side and the other gloriously open. Derek stepped around Stacia, contentedly working on a coloring book at the coffee table, and collapsed into the empty space. Leaned in to smell his mate and didn't bother trying to stop the happy rumble at how much of Edward and the rest of the pack was mixed in.

"I can't believe how badly horror movies lied to me," Stiles joked, getting a hand into Derek's hair and scratching, firm and perfect. (And he wasn't a dog, but humans liked being pet too. Tania was just as much a sucker for head rubs now as she had been before taking the bite.)

"It's not all lies," Edward piped up, sounding unfairly awake. "A werewolf without strong pack bonds tends to be unstable. The most famous werewolf stories probably originated with lone survivors of packs, who inherited the powers of an alpha by default. They--"

"Oh my god," Laura groaned. "You got him started."

"You love me," Edward chirped, and Laura yelped. (Probably pulled on one of her ears. She _hated_ that.) "But seriously, that's almost always what was going on when you hear about random bites: the lone survivor's trying to build a new pack. It doesn't usually _work_ , because the new betas don't really bond to the alpha, so that just leaves a whole almost-pack of unbalanced, dangerous wolves. Unlike, say, my cousins."

(If Edward had a hand free--which Derek doubted he did, after tugging one of Laura's ears--he'd be gesturing at the cuddle-pile all around him. He was probably still gesturing, just with his head, his chin. Wolfish as any of them.)

Stiles' scent went earthy, under all the layers of pack, and the sense of him in Derek's head twisted from an undefined nebula of color to layers on layers of ovoid shapes and curved lines. "Did you seriously go abroad to study werewolves, when you _live with them_?"

"Of course not," Edward tossed back, and Derek could _hear_ the grin in his voice. "I went to Germany to continue studying the role of beasts and monsters in Pre-Enlightenment folklore."

"And to make contact with the sort of people who are naturally curious when a new expert in the field shows up," Maria added (just before she actually entered the room, judging by the tread of her feet, and _why_ did his family have to be so dramatic? It was embarrassing). 

A tiny frisson of unease went through the pack bonds, followed swiftly by indignation from their alpha, and--he smelled apples? Not Stiles, _real_ apples. 

Derek lifted his head to see his mother glaring at the couch, holding a platter. Which--she'd been in the kitchen? Voluntarily?

Her glare swiveled to include him as well, and Derek slunk down into Stiles' shoulder again.

"I am _entirely capable_ of cutting fruit, thank you very much."

Peter snorted loudly and Derek felt his mother's attention move away again.

Thank goodness.

\-----

Edward pushed his way free of the couch around seven, claiming jet lag (fair) and an inability to sleep while covered in werewolves (a blatant lie, he'd done it before). Stiles stayed for dinner, and let Derek 'walk him home' after, but only with a pointed eye roll since that really meant riding home with Stiles then running back on his own.

And, apparently, a game of twenty questions once they'd passed out of hearing range (and then some).

"So. Edward's getting a master's? In Germany. In folklore."

"He's working on his doctoral thesis," Derek corrected. "In folklore, but from a historical approach."

"I'm still lost on why."

Derek groaned and tipped his head back against the seat. "I don't get all the nuances. He's building up a network of contacts that are important to the pack, though. Hunter families and packs in Europe, but also experts in translating historic languages and documents. We have a whole cache of books that we can't read."

"Because they're in German?" Stiles sounded incredulous. (He _felt_ interested.)

"Archaic Latin," Derek corrected. "When we're lucky. Old English using the Greek alphabet, when we're not. Edward found one that he described as being French, written with Russian characters, by someone with a Welsh approach to consonants."

There was a long, thoughtful pause before Stiles finally piped up with "That sounds complicated, and I have no idea what it means."

"It means it's a deliberate mess. They're hunter chronicles, we think. Different families, or branches of families, had certain ways they'd mix languages up to create a code."

"Because of course they did." Stiles shook his head, scent spiking sharp and woody the way it always did when he was reminded that hunters existed. "Sooo, Edward's getting a doctorate, so he can read old, evil books? Is there even a job title for that?" He chewed at his lips a couple of times, visibly thinking about it, then flicked his eyes over to Derek briefly as Derek shrugged.

"Probably. He'll have work as long as he wants it, though. Aside from _our_ archive, there's a couple professors at his school that he says keep joking about holding his degree hostage until he gets through their archives."

(He was not going to growl about that. Again.)

Stiles drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, frowning and almost audibly thinking. Then, "I think Edward might be the most terrifying member of your pack."

"No. But only because I know what would happen if someone threatened one of Tania's kids."

The Jeep nearly swerved off the road and Derek straightened up abruptly, checking for trees, for a ditch, to make sure Stiles' seatbelt was in place.

" _Oh my god_ ," Stiles breathed, jerking the Jeep back on course. "New topic."

Derek took a moment for his pulse to settle again. For his breathing to get back to normal. "Like what?"

"How about, when were you going to tell me your birthday's coming up?" Stiles asked, bright and cheerfully accusatory. "Jerk."

And--right. "I forgot, actually." He shrugged when Stiles threw an incredulous glare his way. "We don't really do birthdays? It's never been a big deal for us."

"So you were able to parrot off Gregory's birthday like it was nothing, but you don't--" Stiles paused, eyes flicking over the road as they came to the first major turn out of the woods. "No, wait. That was two days after our anniversary." (Derek snorted, because that was _not_ their anniversary. It was just the day they met on.) "That would've been his first birthday, and you didn't say anything about it."

"We didn't do anything. Why would I tell you we weren't doing anything?"

Stiles gestured as much as he could with his left hand, waving it through the air by his head and barely avoiding clocking it against the window or the ceiling. "I thought most people celebrated those!"

Derek shrugged again. "Maybe, but why would we? We don't take a lot of photos because our eyes can mess them up. It makes group photos really hard to pull off. And Greg's not going to remember it. He doesn't care about much more than whether or not he gets applesauce."

"Well, at least he has his priorities," Stiles huffed, feeling amused even though he was trying to keep his smile down. "Still. I feel like this is information that should have been shared sooner, so I had some warning."

And that--was probably fair. Especially after Derek had spent so long wondering about Stiles'. "Sorry."

"At least I don't have to worry about whether you have a desperate need for separate presents or non-Christmas-y wrapping paper on one of them."

"That--no. You don't." He wasn't going to protest that he didn't need a birthday present. Stiles probably wouldn't listen to him anyway. 

\-----

Stiles' dad wasn't home when they pulled into the driveway. There was a tree, sharp-smelling and fresh, standing off in a corner, put up but still bare, and a note saying John had to drop by the station and would be back soon. And, well. 

It would have been irresponsible to leave his mate all alone in an empty house, wouldn't it.

When John got back, Stiles was already off his lap and curled up against his side. They both probably looked a bit confused by the wildlife documentary on lemmings that was playing, but whatever.

It wasn't like they were fooling anyone anyway. John's eyes ticked over Derek's hair, his son's face (his lips, probably, and that was something Derek needed to _not be thinking about_ ), Derek's shirt-- Then up to the ceiling as he sighed.

"Night, boys. Derek, if you're staying, that door stays open."

Then he vanished upstairs and Stiles looked torn between mortification and making a victory punch.

Derek turned his face to brush his nose against Stiles' temple. "I should head home."

"It's dark out," Stiles protested, but it didn't have much strength behind it. "Dad said you can stay."

Because Derek couldn't sleep, some nights. He wasn't going to start abusing that privilege just for the hell of it, though. (Wasn't going to tempt himself that much.)

"Stiles. I _am_ one of the things that goes bump in the night." He grinned as Stiles groaned. Nipped gently at the back edge of his cheek. "I'll be fine."

"You could go bump in the night _here_ ," Stiles offered. His heart wasn't in it, though. Sleep was already starting to tug at the edges of the bond.

"Goodnight, Stiles."

He stole one last kiss and pulled away. Let himself out with Stiles' shuffling footsteps trailing after him. Waited until he heard the lock slide home before starting his walk toward the Preserve.

(The fastest route to the trees wasn't the fastest way home, but he could feel Danielle and Laura. He could meet up with them, run with them, and they'd all go home together.

They were howling by the time he hit the trees, calling him in.)

\-----

Edward was awake again when they tumbled (quietly) in through the mudroom, though it didn't look intentional. He was slumped across the kitchen counter, glaring at the kettle and apparently deeply involved in the stimulating practice of waiting for water to boil.

Laura walked over to slump against his back, butting her head against his shoulder before straightening up and hip checking him before stalking out with a jaw popping yawn. Danielle just went rummaging for another bag of tea while Derek slipped down the hall to drop his shoes off by the front door, so he'd actually be able to _find_ them in the morning.

Stitch streaked out of the kitchen just in time to nearly take out Derek's ankles.

"Dani," he whispered, ducking down to scoop Stitch up. Let him wiggle his way onto a shoulder and raised a hand to stroke his chest until his tail started to smooth out again.

Danielle huffed, soft but plainly irritable. "'S not my fault cats're weird."

"Oh, so I wasn't hallucinating," Edward mumbled, half into the counter by the sound of it. "I was wondering."

Danielle laughed once, short and too loud before it was muffled in flesh. "Oh, man. Nobody warned you about the cats?"

"Vic was the only one who remembered to warn me about _Stiles_ ," Edward grumbled, setting off Danielle again and what sounded like Tania, up on the third floor.

And--whoops?

Not strictly his fault, though, so Derek just kept petting Stitch as he headed back toward the kitchen to join the rest of the (voluntary or not) night owl contingent of his family.

Dani really did have to learn to get along with the cats sometime. Stitch would be good practice. He wasn't as jumpy as the others, so long as there was a better known werewolf around to protect him.

\-----

For all that he wasn't working much, it was a weird, busy week.

He came home on Tuesday after the day's only appointment to find Stiles already holed up with Edward in the study, talking about pack migration, cultural influences on pack dynamics, and other shapeshifter mythologies, real and not. 

And that was just in the few minutes Derek stuck around, before fleeing to the relative sanity of the kitchen. (Very relative. Peter was in the kitchen.)

Wednesday saw Fiona rattling up to the house in her ancient Subaru, smelling of dirt and sap and--blood.

Derek trailed Tania and Maria as they ran out, eying the bundle strapped to the top of her car as they got the hugging and babbled greetings out of the way. Fiona normally just brought them the stuff that wasn't good enough to sell at full price. This was--more than that.

"Sorry," she breathed, gesturing broad and wide and only vaguely toward what was big enough around it could have been a Christmas tree, if only it were tapered (and smelled like pine). "That property out past the empty lot behind my store's got a new owner, and they asked if I could do anything with this-- Well. It was a tree, really. Like, a big one. Super gnarly. It's the-- Uh. Not real. _Iconic_! Yeah. Anyway. I saved loads of the trunk if you've got any use for holly wood. Figured I'd chuck it at Norris if you didn't. Think he'd get a kick out of trying to carve it. But yeah, this isn't even all of it. And, I mean, I know you like holly, but--"

His mother was beaming at the not-tree so hard her fangs were starting to pop out as Tania hooked her hand around Fiona's scratched up elbow and laughed. "I think she'll take it. You're letting us pay you this year, though."

Fiona rolled her eyes and leaned over to ruffle Derek's hair as Tania walked her in toward the house. 

She didn't offer to help, or look worried about leaving something of that size to just Derek and his mother to haul the thing in. She knew better.

Derek eyed the roof rack as his mother started pacing around the car, debating how to get the holly off with the least amount of bloodshed possible. (It was holly. There was absolutely no graceful, painless way to transport holly in bulk. Not even wrapped in canvas like it was.)

Maria stopped short as she got close enough to peer into the back of the Subaru. "Oh wow," she announced gleefully. "There's more in the back."

He was definitely going to have to change before he left for work.

Tania and Fiona were still catching up in the kitchen by the time they finished hauling branches off and out of the car. Fiona's gestures had broadened up, and the raw red lines on her arms were faded enough that Tania had probably gone after her with the first aid kit, if not her weird, wolfy powers (he was never going to be able to think of it any other way now, dammit, Stiles).

Derek pulled his new shirt over his head then swooped in to ambush Fiona, hugging _her_ for once instead of the other way around. Caught her from behind while she was mid-story, so her arms were flapping. Pinned them to her sides and pressed a noisy kiss against her cheek, grinning at the way she squawked in surprise and the startled bark of laughter Tania gave, before dodging out. Fast enough to keep her from retaliating.

He'd deliberately scheduled his day's appointments to end around the same time as Stiles' session with Alan. Stiles drove him home after and showed off for the pack before dinner, using scraps of paper to draw design after design that pulled their attention in or pushed it away, that created phantom scents or the impression of a sound just out of proper hearing range, even for the humans. It was fascinating and maddening, and Stiles laughed as he ripped the designs apart. Made them harmless again.

Thursday, Derek had a leg (attached to a human, not for the window) to cover in stylized black flames. While he was out, Stiles stole Cara, Paul, Edward, Danielle and one of the pack cars that would actually fit everyone comfortably and hauled them all out to a mall. For more new pants for Cara (her weight had settled, but her claws had _not_ ), holiday shopping for Danielle and Edward, presumably birthday shopping for Stiles, and--honestly, probably just some time away from the terrors for Paul. He and Niq had sort of drawn the short straw in keeping them active while everyone else was working on other things.

They were still gone when Derek came home, but there were plenty of newly made holly garlands to tack up. (He had Matt and the terrors as helpers, but it worked out alright. Stacia got scratched when Matt tugged a little too hard on an uncooperative garland, and Jacob and Gwen made absolute pests of themselves making sure neither of the humans got hurt again. It was as adorable as it was annoying.)

Friday was another round of holly, smaller than the first one, thankfully. (And mostly wreaths that hadn't come out quite right. Which was excellent, because Laura had already gotten an ass full of holly and nearly broke a bannister when she misjudged a jump upstairs. They were all _far_ less likely to jump into wreaths.)

Stiles was around for the Fiona visit this time. Tried to flail out of the way of one of her hugs, but it was mostly for show. He felt way too happy about it to actually mind.

Lunch was--interesting, with Fiona around to make Tania act more like a teenager again, Edward around to make Vic act like she was all of _five_ , and Stiles gleefully egging them all on, even when the conversation devolved into a consideration of what food made the best fake walrus tusks.

(Derek wasn't sure what face he was making, but it wasn't good enough for Laura, or else he figured she wouldn't have thrown half of her sandwich roll at him. Then again, maybe she just didn't want all the bread. She didn't seem to mind when he ate it for her.)

\-----

"If someone had told me last year that my dad and I were going to be adopted into a big family with a hugging problem, I'd probably have freaked out," Stiles mused, bumping his shoulder against Derek's as they walked out to the Jeep. 

"Why?"

"'S just different," Stiles shrugged. "Different's scary. And all the touching is kind of weird."

Derek snorted and felt a tiny flare of indignation across the bond. "You like the touching."

Stiles bumped his shoulder into Derek's again. Hard. "You're not supposed to call me on that," he grumped, and Derek laughed. "Seriously, though. I would've thought this'd be weird. And it's kinda--not."

"Even with the werewolves?"

"Dude, the werewolves are _so_ easier than the hugging." 

They were at the Jeep already and Stiles sighed, turning and wrapping his arms around Derek's waist. Grinning when Derek leaned in to brush their noses together. "Mind if I'm mostly gone tomorrow? I've got Deaton, and I want to spend more time with Dad, and Scott, and--"

"That's fine," Derek cut him off. "I've got stuff to do tomorrow anyway."

He still had a present to buy, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tattoo Artist of the Week:** [Nazareno Tubaro](http://www.nazareno-tubaro.com/) (more on [Tattrx](http://tattrx.tumblr.com/tagged/nazareno-tubaro)), in Buenos Aires, Argentina.
> 
> Because I'm fairly sure some people will be curious--a large part of my interpretation of what Edward is doing at school comes from the history majors I've known, who in addition to learning how to interpret and think about information from their primary sources, also spent a significant amount of time learning to translate their own primary sources. In addition to that, languages are not static so you can't just know the language, you have to know the language for a particular time period, ideally.
> 
> A large part of Edward's value to the pack isn't that what he himself is doing, it's the network of contacts and scholars he's developing, who can help him/them with translating what they have.
> 
> I'm not an expert at this sort of thing. Feel free to tell me why I'm wrong, and I'll try to fix it for the edited draft. But the basic setup I've created for the rough draft is going to remain in place, so I can finish.
> 
>  **Last minute notice: No update for 5/26/14.** Really sorry about this, everybody. I had a cold last week and just wasn't able to work in enough writing time around work, sleep, and feeling miserable. There should be a chapter next week, as per normal.


	70. It's Sunday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite the chapter title, we're actually starting on Saturday. Sorry for any possible confusion that might cause.

Saturday morning was a riot of 'who's got the kids', 'who's working', 'how are we getting to ___', and 'where did ___ get to?' Danielle got roped into chasing Gwen around until she put on her shoes, and Derek spent nearly five minutes wrestling Jacob into his coat for Paul. Almost missed Laura breezing past (she didn't _smell_ right. Had that smoothing stuff from Halloween in her hair) as he tried to navigate arm holes around tiny little claws. 

"Heading out! Gonnaworkonthetruck'nTonysaidIcouldpullsomeextrahoursbutI'llbebackfordinnerBye!"

Derek blinked after her, then had to flip Jacob onto his back and pin him before he could wiggle away. "Did that make sense to you?"

Jacob just huffed and tried to kick Derek in the side.

He loved the park, but hated coats. It was a thing.

A really, really annoying thing.

\-----

Paul's truck was apparently in the shop, which meant Paul was using Peter's minivan and hauling the kids around for the day, which meant Peter caught a ride to work with his wife. Laura was gone, Danielle would let him borrow her car approximately never, Niq was the same way, his mom had said she had a meeting in town--

Derek caught Vic standing in the living room. Vic was, importantly, in possession of a car he might be able to use. She was also just--standing, staring blankly at the couch like it might hold the answer to life, the universe, and everything.

(In reality, it held a sleeping cat, but he wasn't sure she knew that. She couldn't hear the heartbeat and slow, steady, purring exhales where it was curled up underneath the back right corner.)

"Vic? You okay?"

She didn't startle, but her head came up fast enough Derek figured she hadn't really noticed he was there. "Yeah, fine. What's up?"

It wasn't a lie, but. "I was wondering if I could borrow your car," he said slowly, trying to think out her reactions and what they might mean. "But if you want to--"

"Yeah, sure, I'll come too," she answered, tossing him her keys before he had the chance to finish his thought. "You're driving, though."

'--if you want _to talk_ ' was what he was going to say, but okay. Worse things had happened to him than unexpected company.

\-----

The Volvo used to be Edward's, before he'd gone off to Germany. Derek always forgot how _quiet_ the damned thing was until he was inside it (passenger or driver, it didn't matter), and sadly, they'd probably get funny looks driving around with the windows rolled down three days before Christmas.

(Plus Vic might get cold. It was hard to tell with her sometimes.)

Derek kept sneaking looks over at her as they rolled down the driveway and out towards the main road, where it wiggled along the edge of the preserve. From his seat, she was just staring out the passenger window, worrying at the edge of a thumbnail with her teeth. (There was an acrid tang to her scent that said she was upset, but the feel of her through the bond was--twisted. Knotted. Everything turned inward.)

"We're out of earshot, now," he offered, slanting a glance at the way she twitched and straightened up. "Nobody else is probably headed out this way."

Vic huffed, short and sharp. "Stop being so observant, I hardly recognize you," she groused. "How'd you know I was wondering about ears?"

Derek tilted his head back and forth, but kept his focus on the road. "Do you know where we're going?"

"Uh, no? You didn't say why you wanted my car."

"And you didn't ask," Derek pointed out, resisting the urge to sigh. "So I'm guessing there's trouble in paradise. What do you want to talk about?"

He should have expected it, but he didn't. Nearly drove them into the other lane when Vic reached over to ruffle his hair. "Awww, you _do_ care."

"Cut it out!"

"Like you'd wreck us," she huffed, but settled back in her seat. "And it's not trouble, really. I'm just--adjusting."

There was a lot to adjust to, he supposed, but. "Adjusting to what? You grew up around us, you know what we're like."

The noise Vic made was pure derision, loud and rolling and harsh enough that Derek's nose hurt in sympathy for what it must feel like, inside her head. "Yeah. That's what I prepared for in advance. My mate being stronger, and faster, and able to hear my heartbeat, and turning into a furry menace. That's not the problem." She sighed, short and gusty, and--felt irritated. _Mad_. At _herself_. "I didn't think about how it'd feel, now that my mate isn't squishy anymore."

Derek--honestly couldn't come up with a response to that. Not a coherent one, at least. One that used words instead of long, pointed looks that didn't pair well with driving. 

"Shut up," she muttered, slumping down in her seat. "I know it's stupid. It's also-- I mean, it's just that I mean that _literally_. I didn't think about how it would _feel_ to hug her, or sleep next to her, or go down on her, when--"

"That's more disturbing than actually listening to my parents have sex," Derek offered, glaring out at the road.

"Cope," Vic chirped. "But seriously. She looks amazing and it's awesome to see how well she's taking to it all. She has _abs_ , Derek. And it turns out they're ticklish. It's fantastic." She turned to look out the window again, the feel of her across the bond sort of...slumping. Jagged, anxious lines sagging over like they wanted to do Dali proud. "But I go to hug her and I'm missing, like, three inches. She _feels_ wrong. I can't fall asleep with my head in her lap anymore, because some part of my brain keeps asking whose lap I'm in."

That--sounded awful. But. "You should talk with her about this." Vic opened her mouth but Derek cut across her with an abrupt "Seriously, Vic. Do you think she doesn't know something's up? If you feel like that whenever you touch her, she's probably picking _something_ up through the bond."

"Ugh," Vic complained, slumping down as far as she could in the passenger seat. "I'm a horrible mate."

"No you aren't," Derek said. "Mates are allowed to mess up. If they weren't, we'd _all_ be screwed."

"And not in the fun way," Vic agreed, but her mood didn't lighten any. 

Just as well. He'd have to just bring it down again. "There's another reason you should probably talk to Cara, you know."

"Mmm?"

"You're having issues over her body changing. Do you know how _she_ feels about it?"

There was a pause, then Vic straightened up so she could thump her head back against the headrest. "Damnit. I _am_ a bad mate."

"Still not worse than Mom, Peter or Paul," Derek pointed out.

"Not as helpful as you might think."

Vic was quiet after that, staring out the window and feeling like a knot of ferrets had taken up residence in her head.

Derek let her be. Tried to wrap his head around how _he_ might feel if _Stiles_ changed like that. But the only way it'd happen was if Stiles took the bite. Humans just didn't change that fast, otherwise.

(He wouldn't change that drastically anyway. Lose the last tattered remains of the baby fat, bulk up through the shoulders and legs, get firmer and more defined through the arms and torso. Change, yes, but Stiles just didn't have much squish to lose.)

"So where _are_ we going?" Vic said abruptly, breaking the relative silence.

"Art supply store down by Sacramento," Derek said, knowing she'd remember the one he was talking about even if he couldn't remember the name and steeling himself for the chiding he was fairly sure was coming. "I don't have a present for Stiles yet."

But Vic just hummed agreeably and nodded. "Good call. He's totally another Laura."

Derek laughed, because yes. Exactly that. "Yeah, I think so." Then, "Shit, I didn't get Laura anything yet either."

Vic snickered and pushed her feet against the floor, sitting up straighter. "Me either. We can look together."

That sounded good. Better than trying to do it alone.

Laura not only bought her own presents with alarming and suspicious frequency, she was a pain to shop for. Her tastes were random (' _eclectic_ ', her voice corrected inside his head, and apparently they'd had this argument too many times) and changed on a dime, too, just to make things worse.

"This totally means we're ending up at the mall, though," Vic pointed out, gleeful in the way she only was when delighting in someone else's misery.

Derek just groaned.

\-----

Stiles was, in the end, not that hard to shop for. Still too married to small sketchbooks and pencils and nothing but grey scale.

He let Vic pick out the books on technique. Put his focus into finding the biggest pad of paper they had in the weight he wanted. Into trying out markers until he thought the fumes might be getting to him, because it wasn't his medium but they'd probably suit Stiles'--well, style.

It wasn't as personal as he'd have liked, but it'd have to do. It was the best he could think of.

For Laura, they tried a bookstore (another art book for Stiles and a collection of German woodcuts for Edward, because why not), then a place called Bits and Bobs which advertised itself as a 'quirky secondhand store' in lurid script across the front windows (Derek almost balked at going into a place that described _itself_ as 'quirky', but Vic got him in a headlock and that was that).

"Oh my god," Vic muttered delightedly.

"No," Derek said before he turned away from the stuffed moose head that people apparently tried to kiss (there was a sign asking people not to kiss the moose, he hadn't had his shots yet, which was just _wrong_ ) to see what she'd found.

"Oh my god," Vic repeated, gesturing with her hands at a giant floor lamp.  It was burgundy and purple, trimmed in pale gold, deeply scalloped, with a good seven _inches_ of creamy-gold fringe that was only a little uneven. The top had weird points, kind of like sepals if the rest of the shade was the rest of a flower (and whatever fungus was growing on it, to give it the fringe, and that comparison needed to stop). The stand it was on was almost as bad as the shade, ornate and detailed and so very, very fake gold.

And it was Laura, so the lamp would probably end up in that corner of her room that Derek could see from their bathroom.

"No," Derek pleaded, because dear god.

"Does it reek?"

".... No," he admitted, and she beamed at the gaudy monstrosity. 

"Sold."

(Dammit.  Maybe it wouldn't fit in the car.)

\-----

It fit in the car.  Barely. 

Derek still didn't have a present for Laura, though, so they still had to go to the mall.

Vic helped tow him--eyes watering even though he held his breath going past the Yankee Candle store--clear of the worst of the crowds, up until they both got distracted by Hot Topic.

And the Disney Store.

"Really?" Vic demanded fifteen minutes later as Derek grinned evilly down at his purchases. "I thought you already had stuff for the munchkins."

He did, but so what? Derek shifted his grin up towards her, and she only held out about ten seconds before she started grinning, too.

The terrors were probably going to break _everything_. He'd bought Hulk hands for Jacob, Stitch slippers for Gwen, and a pair of Thor pajamas for Stacia (they came with a cape, he couldn't resist).

He'd also grabbed an Iron Man Nerf gauntlet for Matt and, because he wasn't stupid, eight packs of extra darts. Because once Matt started shooting at his cousins he wasn't getting his ammunition back in one piece.

He might even avoid Laura buying her own present. Again. (Eeyore was totally getting stuffed into the fanged teeshirt with Bite Me picked out on the chest. If Derek was lucky Greg would accidentally fake being able to read by dinnertime, because there was _no way_ Laura wouldn't be pulling the shirt on as soon as she saw it.)

The happy-chuffed feeling lasted up until they were almost clear of the mall, when they got trapped behind a swarm of shopping carts outside the Victoria's Secret (and not-far-enough downwind of Abercrombie and Fitch) and he had to take a breath, which promptly turned into a coughing fit.

"He's allergic to pink," Vic explained when the sea of carts started parting, people laden with shopping bags ( _so many shopping bags_ ) turning to look for the dying person in their midst. Vic took advantage of his outraged protest to tow him through the gap they'd left.

"I hate you so much," he complained as soon as he could take a real breath, and she patted him on the shoulder, pretend-sympathetic.

"I know, kiddo. I know."

\-----

"Derek. Where are you going?"

"Home?"

Vic snorted and started gesturing off to his left. "No, no, take that turn and head down to Howe. We need to stop at the apartment."

"The empty apartment?"

"I bought Laura a _floor lamp_ , Derek. She's gonna notice if I bring it home."

\-----

Derek helped with the kids in the evening, so Paul could run out and check on the nursery and the rabbits. So Vic could drag Cara out for a drive, because there were some things that just needed privacy when you'd grown up human. (So Niq would have time to wrap his gift for Laura, because his big sister was nosy by nature and had _the worst timing ever_ , and if he was in the main room with the kids, he could at least keep an eye out for her.)

Between the shopping and dealing with his cousin's feelings and keeping the terrors entertained for a few hours, he should have been exhausted.

He _was_ exhausted. He just couldn't sleep. Found himself staring up at the ceiling while fractals bloomed and grew and died across the back of his mind.

Birds started chirping eventually. Hiding under his pillow was no help, there was a nest tucked under one of the eaves somewhere, so he dragged himself upright, through the motions of brushing his teeth, his hair. He couldn't remember if he'd slept at all.

It didn't feel like it.

\-----

"Oh baby. And you'd been doing so well." 

Derek huffed into his arms and ignored his mother leaning over to kiss the back of his head on her way to her seat. Ignored the snickers and sharp amusement coming from most of the rest of his family.

(He hadn't noticed doing well. It was more that he suddenly hadn't had to notice that something was wrong.)

"So what's the plan for today?" Edward broke in, because Edward was the best. "How many for dinner tomorrow, and what are we making tonight?"

"I get to mash potatoes!" Stacia chirped, because when she wasn't being a brat she was a ridiculous ray of sunshine. "Uncle Peter said so."

Derek lifted his head to watch Peter and Olivia jostle each other over recipes and kitchen timing, his mother eat eggs and glare pointedly at anyone she thought might suggest she help cook, Laura needling Edward and Danielle about not remembering where anything is, Paul leaning against the counter so he could press his nose against Niq's shoulder, where she was perched next to the coffee maker. 

They weren't too bad, overall. He'd keep them. Even if sometimes they were the worst.

"--get Derek's help with the bread, since he's been doing that lately."

Derek blinked and turned to Peter, really tuning in for the first time. "Can I do that in the morning? I'll need to start now, if you'll need the ovens in the morning."

If he didn't, though, maybe Derek could surprise them with cinnamon rolls again. 

Peter and Olivia broke off from their planning to turn to him. "Morning should be fine," Peter said, drawing the words out carefully. "Where are you going to be?"

"Wherever Stiles is. It's Sunday."

His mother laughed, at least.

\-----

Derek knew better than to stick around home when there was a major meal in the works. Figured the run to Stiles' would help clear his head, at least.

(Didn't count on how happy it would make him, to feel the bond waking and Stiles along with it. The sleepy awareness of his mate turning into a sort of grumpily confused affection.)

\-----

Derek could hear Stiles moving toward the door as he approached the house. Hear John mis-swallow and cough as Derek hit the walkway. Recovering just enough to mutter "What on _earth_ \--" by the time Derek jumped past the steps (there were only three, that was short enough to be okay, he thought) so he'd be on the mat by the time Stiles got to the door and opened it (so Stiles wouldn't be opening the door before anyone could possibly have knocked, because nosy neighbors were a potential thing).

But then the door was open and Derek didn't _care_ what John was muttering, because Stiles looked--

Stiles looked _edible_ when he answered the door. There were pillow creases on his cheek, and he was still flushed (and probably warm, or at least warmer than usual) from sleep. His scent was dense and concentrated, clinging so thickly to the tee shirt and boxers he was wearing that Derek could _taste_ it.

Derek was going to have to show up unannounced in the mornings more often if this is what it got him.

"Mrg," was the only greeting he got before Stiles was backing off and shuffling toward the kitchen, stifling a yawn against his arm, but he felt pleased in a muddled sort of way.

Derek toed his sneakers off and closed the door behind himself before following. John was at the kitchen table, dressed for work and running a hand down his shirt like--like he was worried he might have spilled coffee on it. Which--Derek supposed that made sense, what with the coughing.

John looked up when Derek came in, nodding and unsurprised. "I guess that makes sense. Morning," John offered with a wry smile and a raised mug. "You'll have to excuse the zombie. I'm pretty sure he was up later than he should have been, playing computer games with Scott."

"Mrg," came from the fridge, where Stiles had crouched down and shoved his head into it for some reason. 

"Looks probable," Derek agreed. He wasn't much better, some mornings. (Too little sleep was worse than no sleep, even though that had never made sense to him.) He headed over to the fridge, pulling Stiles back out and smiling down at the frown being directed back up at him. "Stiles, what're you looking for?"

"Juz."

Derek grabbed the orange juice off the top shelf and held it in front of Stiles' face. Stiles made a rough pleased noise and took it, pulling away from Derek and making his way to the table.

His mate was ridiculous. Derek found a glass and snatched the juice carton away before Stiles could start drinking from it. Poured him a glass and ignored the wounded look Stiles gave him (growing up with sisters and tiny cousins had a few advantages).

"Well, I can tell he's in capable hands at least," John said, amusement making his scent soft and woody as he finished off the last of his coffee (thankfully without any issues; Derek wasn't sure he could remember how to deal with choking humans without breaking them). "I have to head out. You'll be okay here until he's actually conscious?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

Stiles was glaring at his empty glass by the time John left, so Derek took it away. "Did you want more?" A head-shake. "Want to nap on the couch?"

"Fuck yes," Stiles croaked, lurching up and grabbing Derek as he staggered past. He didn't head for the couch, though. Pulled Derek toward the stairs.

"Stiles--"

"I need more than a nap. _You_ need more than a nap."

Derek wasn't sure what to do with the sudden reappearance of coherent sentences, but he let Stiles tug him along.

Stiles didn't let go of him until they were in his room, and then it was mostly so he could scuffle around in his closet, looking for--a blanket, apparently.

"Here," Stiles offered through a jaw cracking yawn. "Y'can stay on top of'th covers if y'want."

He pushed the blanket into Derek's chest on his way to burrow back into his bed, and--

It was probably a bad idea. He'd feel worse, for sleeping, and Stiles' scent was already _everywhere_.

Stiles got himself settled, wiggled until the side of the comforter was wedged under his side before he reached over to start thumping the other side of the mattress, and it was a bad idea that sounded _amazing_.

Derek shucked off the running jacket he'd forgotten to leave downstairs and checked his pants for any obvious debris that might sneak into the sheets before he settled down next to Stiles, dragging the extra blanket with him.

He doubted he'd get cold enough to care, with Stiles so close, but it'd help trap his scent in.

Stiles squinched an eye open and smiled at him, loose and goofy and half asleep already, then reached over to get a grip on his shirt. "'Night."

"Sweet dreams."

The answering snort was soft. "Hopin' for graphic."

Derek shoved lightly at Stiles' shoulder as the bond between them thrummed with affectionate lust. " _Sleep_ , Stiles."

\-----

Stiles' scent was _everywhere_. It was the first thing he was aware of as he drifted awake again. Wood and spice and musk and apples, all a bit richer and softer than normal because of the way Derek's scent was mixing in.

His nose was shoved against Stiles' throat, which might have had something to do with how overpowering it was. He could feel Stiles' pulse against his cheek, hear the soft rush of air as he breathed. 

The rest of his awareness filtered in slowly. Their legs bumping together, through the covers. His arm hooked around Stiles' back, fingers caught in the comforter instead of shirt like he'd first thought. Stiles' arms looped around his neck, loose enough to slip out of, he thought. Until he tried to pull away. Had to freeze as Stiles' fingers clenched shut around fistfuls of his shirt. 

Derek glanced up at the quiet grunt of complaint Stiles gave, but his mate's eyes were still closed. He kept moving, too, pushing Derek more onto his back and--and shoving his face into the crook of _Derek's_ neck.

Because _why not_ make things as awkward as possible?

Derek shut his eyes again. Let himself pet Stiles' back and relish the soft, pleased noises his mate made as he settled back into a deeper sleep. Let the bond paint swirls and complex, twisting knots across the backs of his eyelids before pulling him under again.

The next time he woke up, it was to Stiles yawning himself awake and squawking at the accidental mouthful of _throat_ he ended up with, and his nerves singing with threat-lust-argh.

(It was still one of the best dates they'd had, in his opinion. Even if they did just sleep through most of it.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tattoo Artist of the Week:** [Ivana Belakova](http://www.ivanatattooart.com/) in LA California (and occasionally travelling: another gallery is available on [Tattrx](http://tattrx.tumblr.com/tagged/ivana-belakova)).
> 
> Next week, Christmas Eve dinner.


	71. the fiercest group hug to exist ever

It was _two_ when Derek rolled over and looked for the clock (or--okay, that's what the clock said when he rolled over to watch Stiles stumble and mutter his way out the door to the bathroom). He still felt too heavy, and gummy behind the eyes, and--sore was still the best word he had for the not-quite-healing feeling in his joints, even though he wasn't sure it was right.

He still felt like he'd taken a nap, even though he knew better. It wasn't as bad as usual, though. But a nearly _six hour_ nap was probably better than two or three.

On the upside, it would probably be pretty easy for him to take one of the evening patrols if his parents needed more rest.

"Ugh. _Why_ do I feel like roadkill."

Derek twisted his head up and couldn't help the smile spreading over his face at the sight of Stiles, sleep-flushed (again), scowling, rubbing at his eyes, and his hair tufted in all directions like a mostly-dry chick. "You don't. Not enough broken bones."

Maybe that had been a weird thing to say, he realized, as Stiles gaped back at him for a moment before shaking his head. "Unbe _liev_ able. And you know what I meant, jerk."

True, but less fun. "I'm not entirely awake either," he felt the need to point out. "And I always feel like this if I nap. 'S why I don't, normally."

"Dude, that was not a nap," Stiles groused, crawling back into bed and pressing up against Derek and--there were no covers in the way, this time. Crap. "That was, like, sleep 2.0. Only we didn't have sleep 1.0 properly installed."

Derek wasn't sure what to say to that. Opted for patting Stiles on the head instead. "Lunch?"

"I want pancakes."

Pancakes were doable.

\-----

Pancakes were not doable, because the Stilinskis were out of milk.

Stiles made a face at the empty spot on the shelf. "Sorry, that's-- I must've forgotten to get a new gallon."

Derek shrugged. "We can stop by the store on our way back. Floyd's? They do breakfast all day."

"Awesome," Stiles agreed solemnly and started for the door.

(Derek redirected him back toward the stairs, because pants were a thing. For both his sanity and avoiding public indecency issues.)

\-----

They didn't get their usual waitress at Floyd's, which shouldn't have been surprising but was anyway. (Their waiter seemed to know who they were, though. Or did after the sketchbook came out, anyway. Derek heard him ask someone in back if table three was 'Shelly's cuties', which-- It was a good thing he already knew people were weird.)

It felt perfectly normal but still amazing to be able to tangle his ankles with Stiles' and watch as Stiles sketched out a graceful curve. Fleshed it out into a feather and groaned low in his throat when the base came out just a little too thick.

Derek turned the book sideways so they could both work more easily and turned the base of the feather into a quill tip, which made Stiles snort a pleased noise and sketch in a bottle for the ink. (It actually looked more like one of the bottles from Tinge than an old fashioned ink well, but that could have been intentional just as easily as ignorance.)

While Stiles fussed with the shape of the bottle, Derek added ink splatters. When Stiles got distracted by the splatters and turned them into an impression of pawprints, Derek added a lid for the bottle, lying abandoned to one side and surrounded with its own splash of ink.

Stiles still couldn't draw a shoulder to save his life, but he did a weirdly good job of depicting a cat's gait. Implied just enough tilt to the surface it was walking on to let the viewer see the prints, without making them crawl over the wall behind the bottle.

Not that it was surprising that humans weren't really Stiles' forte, no matter how much of his time he spent working on them.

That'd come later, though. When Stiles was good enough at drawing people to take a step back and look for other areas to improve.

They both stopped at the same time, eying the sketch. It wasn't a finished piece (it was in pencil, for one, and the design really would have appreciated a starker black), but the done-ness of it was almost a tangible thing across the bond, touching them both.

Stiles nodded and turned the page, and _out of nowhere_ came "Are you ready to order?"

Derek jolted in his seat, whacked his elbow against the table and felt it rock more than it should have and Stiles, the fucking traitor, felt like he was in danger of _hurting himself_ with how hard he was laughing.

Whatever. It distracted their waiter from noticing Derek pushing down on his side of the table to make sure the bolts and supports were stable enough to shove the surface back to level. (Well, level-ish. Mostly as level as it had been.)

"Yeah," Derek tried, hoping to just move the conversation along and get rid of the witnesses. "I think we're--"

Stiles started laughing harder and the waiter's eyes slid away from Derek.

His _mate_. What even.

\-----

After they'd ordered (a denver omelet for Stiles, biscuits and gravy with scrambled eggs for Derek, and a side of pancakes to split so they didn't entirely fail at their initial objective, and because his mate was ridiculous) and the traitorous, smirking waiter had finally gone _away_ , things went back to normal. They filled a page in the book with spikysaurs and lovebirds jousting with fountain pens, sneaking along the side of the page wearing ninja masks, gleefully freaking out for no apparent reason, and celebrating New Year's. (Well, the lovebird was celebrating, complete with confetti and one of those obnoxious noise makers that rolled out when you blew into it. The spikysaur was trying to hide under a bed, because Derek believed in accuracy.)

The food came and only didn't surprise Derek because Stiles looked up and leaned back, which made Derek pay attention to his surroundings again just in time to hear the footsteps.

Stiles dedicated himself to eating (his omelet, the pancakes, Derek's eggs where they'd gotten into the gravy, which--he could _have_ them, ew), but Derek flipped up another page. Sketched out grids between bites and started trying to figure out how some of the knots and braids he'd imagined while half-dreaming might work on paper.

Stiles watched, all focused attention and sharp interest, and Derek made a note to go over it later, when his mouth wasn't alternately full of biscuit and omelet.

(In his defense, Stiles totally started it, and didn't notice the thievery until his omelet was mostly gone anyway.)

\-----

"Thanks for braving the store with me," Stiles said, leaning over the seats to steal a kiss before Derek could let himself out. "I hate shopping around the holidays. Too much shiny."

Derek was just going to pretend that made sense.

"Thanks for driving me home," he offered instead. Reached up to hook his fingers light around the nape of Stiles' neck and pull him back in. "You'll be back tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Stiles breathed, pressing in instead of pulling away. "Three, right?" Each word a not-kiss that made Derek want to forget where they were, just push in and--

Derek pulled back. Smirked when Stiles groaned, and tilted his head toward the house. "Exhibitionist."

"Jerk," Stiles huffed and swatted his shoulder. "Fine. Get out. I need to get home and get this stuff in the fridge anyway."

\-----

Derek spent his evening helping Matt with an extra credit science thing (that took much longer than it said it would, and involved cleaning eggshells, making plenty of colorful salt goop to go in them, and cleaning off a shelf in the pantry to give them space to dry out away from cats and cousins), and keeping an idle ear out for the terrors, in case Vic and Danielle needed help.

In the gap between dinner (and Greg earning himself a third bath for the day, because applesauce was not an acceptable accessory) and most of the pack going to bed, Derek hid in the kitchen. (He was prepping bread, not hiding.) Took the first patrol so his dad could sleep, because he woke up at _two in the afternoon_ and wasn't going to sleep anyway. 

Came back halfway through to wash his hands and punch the dough down, separate it out and throw it into loaf pans for the second rise.

Came back again when his mother the wolf showed up to nip at his heels and headbutt him affectionately back in the direction of the house. She'd set one of the ovens preheating for him already, which made her his favorite temporarily, even if she _had_ gotten the temperature wrong.

(Peter had left the butter out, like he'd asked, so it was easy enough to throw together a batch of cinnamon rolls while he waited for the bread to bake. Easy enough to get them set up to rise on their own and write out the times and temperatures for the actual baking, for whoever stumbled through the kitchen first.)

It was nearly four by the time the loaves came out of the oven and Derek thought that he might, maybe, be able to sleep.

It still took over an hour, but he lost track after the first one. He knew he'd slept, though, because Pitch hadn't been curled up on his pillow when he'd laid down. Because he didn't remember hearing the birds, or his family rousing. Just woke up to familiar, comforting noise and the lingering smell of cinnamon.

He still didn't feel great, but it was the kind of lingering tired that he knew would fade if he just got up and moving, not the kind that would hound him all day. It didn't make the actual process of getting up any easier, but he knew the promise of 'better' was there all the same.

Besides, it was practically Christmas.

\-----

He'd missed the standard morning chaos, but holiday-afternoon was just as bad, for all that there were fewer people in the kitchen.

Derek wound up perched on Niq's section of the counter, next to the coffee pot and not-incidentally at the awkward edge of the kitchen where the counter wasn't much use unless the goal was getting something out of the way. He ate the cinnamon rolls and scrambled eggs they'd set aside for him (cold, because he valued his fingers) in careful, precise little bites to draw his reprieve out. Watched Peter stalk through the kitchen, moving all the things Olivia had left out before she'd gone to bed and mutter under his breath about how she was doing things _wrong_ but never changing them (because as much as he complained, it was still his mother's cooking and professional experience still didn't stand up very well to that). Watched Edward and Danielle breeze around him, peeling carrots and potatoes, chopping onions, leeks, brussels sprouts, peppers, and occasionally casually steering Peter out of their way, toward a distraction, or into tripping over a cat.

It was kind of like comedy improv, only better because it was entirely unintentional.

(Worse, because he was going to get dragged into it as soon as he was done with breakfast.)

\-----

Danielle snuck out of the kitchen when Olivia woke up, abandoning Derek and Edward to quiet snarling over counter space and ingredient stealing.

Traitor.

\-----

Derek only felt Stiles approaching a few moments before the rest of the heads in the kitchen turned toward the door (toward the road). It was a short pause, just enough for them to recognize the new sensation and relax, but it made Derek grin down into the pile of herbs he was mincing together (for the second time, because 'too much oregano' apparently meant starting over rather than just adding a little more of everything else, for Peter).

It took another few heartbeats before Derek remembered he hadn't wrapped Stiles' gifts yet. Hadn't realized it was so late in the day already.

Shit.

The herbs weren't quite the near-powder Peter preferred, but he'd live. Derek scraped them off the cutting board into a bowl and abandoned it at Peter's elbow (and if he did it while Peter was fending off a suspicious Olivia with a wooden spoon and protesting that he'd roasted that garlic himself specifically for the potatoes so _no_ it was _not_ hers, that was just prudent planning on his part).

"Hope those are okay. I'll be back later."

Edward made a face at him as he slipped out, but whatever. That's what he got for not being available for kitchen-help duty the _rest_ of the year.

Niq and Tania were in the main room with the babies. Niq was stretched out on her stomach, cooing at Erin to make her laugh and try to wiggle upright while keeping a soft, steadying hand on Greg's back. Tania was perched on one of the couches a few feet away, grinning and making happy, encouraging chuffs while Greg wobbled on his feet and eyed the space between them warily. (He could walk along the couch just fine. Or leaning against a wall, or the coffee table, or latched onto Tania or Peter's leg, as long as they remembered he was there. So far, he'd shown no interest in going any further than that. Apparently, Tania was done with waiting patiently.)

Tania didn't take her eyes off of Greg, just raised one hand to wiggle her fingers in greeting when Greg turned to stare at him for a moment. Niq looked up, eyes immediately narrowing. "You want something."

It looked like he was about to volunteer for baby duty, and he didn't actually _like_ baby duty (not as much as he liked the kitchen, anyway), so yes. That was a fair assessment. "I do."

"Are you trying to bribe the sheriff into liking you with my kid?"

Tania laughed and held her hands out, wiggling them invitingly in Greg's direction as she cooed "Still."

"That was Dad's idea," Derek defended himself, scowling. Although--taking Erin to pawn off on John would have been a good way of going about it. "And that wasn't what I was doing anyway." Or it hadn't been, anyway. He heard the Jeep hit the line of gravel at the tree's edge and huffed impatiently. "I forgot to wrap Stiles' gifts, and I wanted to give them to him tonight." Not to mention he kind of sucked at it. He always got frustrated and wound up tearing something with a claw. (If he was _lucky_ , it was just the wrapping, not the gift.) "Could you--?"

Tania barked a laugh, startling Greg into jerking away from Niq, taking half a step to one side and falling on his diapered butt, claws and fangs popping out but, thank god, not crying. 

Niq groaned and thumped her head against the floor, curls going _everywhere_ , but it felt like agreement anyway. "I swear, brat, one year I am teaching you to wrap your _own_ \--"

A tiny, worried growl cut her off as effectively as an air-horn. 

Niq's head shot up and she was staring wide eyed, just like Derek and Tania, at Erin's tiny golden eyes and the way her brow didn't quite wrinkle anymore, because there was just _more_ of it, and--

Erin growled again, eyes squinching up as the flailing of her chubby little arms became more pronounced. More focused. Niq reached for her out of habit, then drew back. Across the bond, she was a confusing mess of emotions; anger, relief, joy, _loss_ \-- (He was glad they were in the main room, where everyone's scent was strong and worked into the cushions, the carpet, the _walls_ until it was hard to escape. Didn't _want_ to know what that mix was doing to Niq's scent if he could avoid it.) 

"Okay," she breathed out unsteadily and started pushing herself up, hands scrabbling at the carpet for a moment before she got traction and lurched upright. "No, that-- Good. Sounds good. Present wrapping. I'll do that. You--watch Erin and Greg, and someone will get Paul?" She nodded to herself, already on her way out of the room and not really talking to them anyway. "Okay. Good. They're in your room? I'm going to your room."

Which--great. His whole _room_ was going to smell like distressed-Niq. Fantastic.

As Niq's feet started tripping up the stairs, Erin started screaming, all claws and fangs and tiny infant rage. Derek could feel his mother circling in, the red-warm solidity and comfort of _alpha_ already reaching out to them even as she paused on the landing to hug Niq. Felt the sudden sense of Paul in the bonds, out of range but there anyway, reaching as hard as he could and nobody was going to need to get him, he was already on his way. 

None of that was going to soothe Erin's sense of abandonment, though. Couldn't shield her from the loss and distress rolling off her mother.

Derek scooped Erin up and tried not to pay attention to the scratches across his chest. (He'd _liked_ that shirt.) Curled in around his tiny cousin and growled low and playful, the way Maria did when she was on four paws. Rubbed his hand over Erin's back and his mouth over her head, still growling gently. He tried to imagine himself as soothing, as safe and protective and _pack_ as hard as he could. (It had worked with kittens, so why not?)

Greg growled on a rising tone even as Tania swooped in to scoop him up, confused and worried in the abstract way of babies. Then Maria was there, crowding in on the other side of Erin, her arms wrapping around both of them. That was the green-light for the others, apparently. Tania and Greg pressed in close, crammed up against Maria's side to keep the babies out of each others' scratching range. He could feel Peter and Vic bracketing Tania, Peter working his hand between Derek and Maria to brush his fingers against Erin's arm.

(Stiles was not-quite-running their way. Derek could feel his worry, the jagged triangles of fading alarm.)

Cara closed her hand over his shoulder, tucking her head around his arm to nuzzle at Erin's outflung knuckles. "Baby?"

Erin flapped her arms (Cara caught a tiny fist to the nose, but barely flinched), growling again even though her sense of distress was fading. Couldn't help but be soothed by the knot of family, even if none of them were the ones she wanted.

"Well," Stiles said from the doorway. "That looks--awful." (Lies. His heart rate was slowing, soaking in the relief of _knowing_ what was going on. Or at least enough to know nobody was dying.)

(Derek just took a moment to be thankful Stiles couldn't see him very well, at the center of the comfort-tangle. Couldn't see the holes and blood around where Erin had dug her tiny claws into his collarbone.)

"We should invite the sheriff over more often," Peter joked, wiggling his fingers to make Erin growl playfully, claws coming out again and fading back to fingernails just as quickly. "The babies make the most _exciting_ announcements when he's around."

Thankfully, Vic hit him so Derek didn't have to. (The soft huff from his mom suggested he wasn't the only one who felt that way.)

Then John was coming in, huffing as he slowed to a stop a few steps behind Stiles (and maybe he'd been closer to running than not--it was possible, humans were slow) and--saying something. Derek couldn't make out the words, just a bewildered-aggravated tone.

That was the last thing he remembered clearly, though. Being at the middle of a pack-pile was kind of like the full moon, only--more.

Derek let his attention wander. Kept track of Stiles and Erin's wiggling-squirming-growling moods, but everything else was just-- It wasn't important. Came and went in flickers of sound that made bright ripples in his head, but didn't stay.

(He might have tried to stop it, just focus on Erin and pack and Stiles and shut everything else out, but Erin kept going still when the ripples came. Like she could see them too, even though he knew better.)

There was the jagged blue flash of Peter leaving, pulling out of the knot and heading for the kitchen. The softer green pulse of Olivia taking his place, grumbling and affronted but still so _stable_ under all of it that Erin didn't complain when Olivia wormed a hand into the middle to pet her. (Those ripples seemed to last forever. Pale green circles just stretching out and out and--)

Short, bright bursts of color as Stiles and Edward laughed in the kitchen. As John made soft, dry comments that left Peter snickering. As Danielle and Laura tumbled through the mudroom with Matt and the terrors. As Danielle, Laura and Matt plastered themselves against the tangle.

(The worry about the terrors made a different shape, a jagged-scribble puff of a cloud, until he felt his father pulling away from the tangle. Calling out to John about taking the kids back out to the yard.)

Then Paul was home, and the whole knot split open. It was horrible. The air was harsh and cold and dry and Derek was left squinting as his eyes adjusted to the light again, leaning back away from his mother so he could offer Erin up toward the blob that felt like Paul and worry and relief.

Erin handled it better than he did, squeaping happily and wiggling her arms out toward her dad as he reached for her.

And they were gone abruptly. Two-stepped up the staircase to the second floor, because Paul had a mate to look after too. Because he should be able to keep Erin calm enough that she wouldn't hurt her mother by accident.

The family split apart again. Tania took Greg out back to check on John and the kids (on Gwen). Olivia drifted back to the kitchen to continue making Peter's life miserable. Laura and Danielle snagged Matt on their way out the front door, too obviously avoiding the terrors and their minders, and Derek didn't even _want_ to know.

Stiles sat on the floor next to him and leaned in, bumping their shoulders together. "So. Somebody's gonna have to explain that to Dad. And me, but mostly Dad. And you really need a new shirt before he sees you."

Yeah, that sounded reasonable.

Derek twisted around and stretched out over Stiles' lap instead, shoving his nose against Stiles' stomach and just breathing for a moment.

"I have a shirt of yours in the car," Stiles offered, wryly amused but scrubbing a hand through Derek's hair. "Uh, like, four, actually. But Dad might think they're mine, at this point. I've kinda been wearing them a lot."

_That_ was enough to wake Derek up, and Stiles laughed at the rumble Derek pressed against his stomach. "Okay."

"You're lucky he knows why you're weird," Stiles said, fond and amused and grinning as he watched Derek push himself up and shake the kinks out.

Sitting in the middle of the fiercest group hug to exist ever. More than a little constricting.

"You make a better wolf than I do," Derek offered, taking Stiles' hand and pulling him up. Smirking at the gape and awkward flail that earned him. 

"Wait. What? I don't--"

Most of his family was laughing at him, and he didn't even care. Derek pressed a kiss to the back of Stiles' hand, just to make him blush and jerk his hand away. "The scent marking. You're better at it. Keep it up better than I do."

Stiles snorted and rolled his eyes, stalked past Derek with a gentle swat to his arm. "It's probably the only thing I'll be better at keeping up than you. Just so you know."

It didn't feel at all sincere, but-- Derek stumbled. Actually _stumbled_. Lost track of the floor and managed to _miss it_.

Outside, he could hear John asking David and Tania what had happened. It sounded like Tania was _on the ground_ and he could only hope that was an intentional choice.

His _mate_.

Who was already halfway out the door, carefully dodging cats and pushing slippery-snakey bodies back in with his sneakers. Which meant Derek was going to have to dodge an already roused mob of curious cats. Damnit.

His life was ridiculous. (And amazing, but he wasn't going to admit that part.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow, everybody. I am _so_ sorry about the delay. Last week and a half just kind of hit me upside the head with all sorts of fun medical and work related shenanigans. I'd really wanted to make this a long chapter to make up for missing last week, but-- *shrug* Life happened.
> 
> Also? Also! This is why I should NEVER EVER tell you guys what's going to be in the next chapter. Because my brain will refuse to let me write it and will insist I do something else. I have the most contrary brain, I swear.
> 
> _That said_ , I have already written a portion of next week's chapter, which will include an explanation for Niq's behavior. I do want to note here that her werewolf family is not surprised by her reaction or upset by it. She is not rejecting Erin because Erin is a werewolf. I'm worried this chapter might read that way, so I wanted to clarify that something else is happening here and you should find out about it next week.
> 
> No tattoo artist of the week, but if you remember the potato rolls from a while back, I've found [another close approximation](http://www.twopeasandtheirpod.com/potato-rosemary-rolls/). Those use rosemary instead of sage, and shortening where I'm used to only dealing with butter, but. The rest of the recipe looks eerily spot on. (Can you just sub butter and shortening for each other? I didn't think so.)
> 
> But anyway. Hope you enjoyed this week's chapter, and hopefully things will go back to normal for next week.


	72. That was a little overkill

Stiles already had the back of the Jeep popped open by the time Derek caught up, and--Fiona's Subaru was just on the other side of him, engine still ticking down but just barely.

(And how had he not noticed her arriving? He hadn't heard her at _all_. Fiona was loud, and excitable, and laughed like it was written into her bones. She was hard to miss.)

Something flew at his face while he was distracted and Derek caught it without thinking. Only realized what it was after his fingers closed around fabric. After he saw Stiles' smirk. After the scent of it hit him, continuing past where the shirt stopped. Not just Stiles. Both of them. Intense and overwhelming and--

When he looked, the shirt was a pale grey and he _recognized_ it, suddenly. The shirt Stiles had been sleeping in, the day before.

"Nuh-uh," Derek shook his head, tossed the shirt back and ignored Stiles' affronted look. "I can _not_ wear that to a family dinner. No."

(There was a shiver of curious interest, and just a little gleeful-asshole, across the pack bonds and damn his father's stupid ears anyway.)

Stiles laughed, head falling forward and muffling his snorts against the back of his hand even as he traded that shirt out for another one, and Derek just _knew_ he was blushing. "Oookay. Uh, didn't think about that. And, um, I was kind of keeping them all together, so--"

He offered another shirt, navy blue this time and--

Well, it wasn't _as_ bad.

Derek pulled it on, and resigned himself to amused looks and teasing. 

All. Day.

His life. Why.

Stiles took the shirt Erin had ripped up and calmly stashed it off to one side, obviously intending to take it home with him. Probably to wash and sleep in, because Stiles.

They closed the Jeep up but Stiles made no move to head back to the house. Leaned against the back and crossed his arms, frowning (not mad, and thank god for the bond so he could tell that, just--serious). "So--what was up, earlier? What happened with Erin?"

"Erin shifted for the first time just before you showed up."

Stiles gave Derek an exaggerated grimace and shrug. "Uh, so? Is there a _problem_ with that, or--?"

And that--oh. That probably looked weird, to an outsider. "No. It's-- Remember when Greg shifted the first time? We took him mostly away from the humans."

"So--" 

"Niq's human. She--"

Stiles frowned, then lit up in terrible realization. "She can't hold her baby."

"Yeah," Derek sighed, slumping over to lean against the Jeep and Stiles. "Or feed her. Directly, at least. She's already been preparing bottles for while she's at work, so that's not new at least. Just--it's a change, and it's hard, and I don't think she was really ready for it. But Erin's a _baby_. She didn't get why her mom was upset and left her."

"Hence the family cuddle-pile."

There was something sly in his tone that suggested he expected Derek to take affront, but--to what? "Exactly."

Stiles' grin softened and he straightened up to bump against Derek's side. "Okay. So--"

Whatever Stiles was about to say was cut off by a tangible frisson of irritation from the house, and Edward sticking his head out the door and glaring their way. "If I'm left alone with these two any longer, I'm going to stab somebody."

Edward--did not sound like he was joking.

Stiles blinked toward the house, then over at Derek. "...that didn't sound happy. What did he say?"

Derek sighed and tugged Stiles away from the Jeep, back toward the house. "He needs rescuing from Peter and Olivia."

Stiles slumped, sighing heavily but following. "Do we have to?"

"Do you want to eat today?"

"Ugh, _fine_."

\-----

Edward fled as soon as Derek and Stiles had washed their hands and gotten settled in, but it wasn't too bad. (Well. It wasn't too bad once they'd gotten past the initial side eyes and snickering, and the surreptitious sniffing at Stiles to check how recent the cuddling was. Because his family.)

It was easy enough to fall into a rhythm, though. Derek was used to how Peter moved around a kitchen, knew his uncle well enough that he didn't have to wait for Peter to get past irritable gestures to words.

It was still a lot easier with Stiles around. He stuck close to Olivia, and she was distracted enough by poking at his studies with Alan that she was willing to overlook when Peter stole something she'd been using. (So long as Derek was right there, ready to get it back to her or replace it.)

It was--nice, working in the kitchen, feeling his family close and secure if not entirely comfortable. Listening to the quiet murmurs and crinkle of paper upstairs as Tania, Maria, and Paul swapped out with Niq and Erin. To Fiona gently quizzing John about how he got involved with werewolves, over and around playing with the terrors. To Vic and Cara taking advantage of having the main room to themselves for a bit and making out on the couch.

But then the potatoes were resting somewhere warm, the sprouts and cauliflower were roasting, the venison roast was braising away, the pies were cooling, the salads (because heaven forbid everyone be forced to endure only Peter's weird herbed mixes, or Olivia's bland basic ones) were ready to go out, the bread was sliced and Olivia was scraping the herbed butter she'd insisted on into ramekins for the table while Peter gave the salad dressing a last shake before setting it in the fridge.

"Okay, shoo, you two," Olivia said, waving her butter knife at them.

Derek looked around at the absolute _wreck_ they'd left the kitchen in and gave his grandmother as much of a judgmental eyebrow as he dared. "Really?"

Peter huffed an aggravated sigh, but he was already starting to gather bowls together. "You might as well. It's mostly our fault."

"Oh, _our_ fault," Olivia snarked, gathering up the vegetable remains and sorting them for what had to be thrown away and what could go in the stock bag in the freezer. "I like that. _You_ asked for my help with this one, you--"

"Yes. _Help_. Not an additional dictator!"

Stiles was staring wide eyed, so Derek tugged him gently out of the kitchen. Leaned in close once they were past the door so he could murmur "And this is the other side of the big family," just loud enough that Stiles could hear. (Hopefully not loud enough that his uncle and grandmother would hear, distracted as they were.) "The occasional civil war."

There was a growl from the kitchen, but Derek honestly wasn't sure if it was because of what he'd said or just--Peter and Olivia. Again. Stiles was snickering though, so that was good.

"Come on, let's go check on your dad."

"Dad's surrounded by, what, six year olds?" Stiles asked, clearly dismissive for all that he was heading for the back door. "I think he's fine."

So of course, that's when there was a pop and a screech from the back yard, loud enough to be heard through both sets of doors. (No alarm through the bonds, though. Just surprise and more than a little hilarity, from his own father.)

"Or maybe today's cursed," Stiles muttered under his breath, pushing his way into the mudroom and keeping a wary eye down for kittens.

(It had just been a football. One of the little ones they used with the terrors. Gwen had bitten right through it. Because Gwen. By the time they got out there, John's eye was twitching at David's assurance that they had more footballs. Because his dad totally failed at remembering human.)

\-----

They could have joined in on the play if they wanted, but it was better sitting on the porch steps, Stiles a step above him, legs curled around Derek's sides, shaking and twitching whenever he laughed. (Which was a lot. Apparently the terrors thought the way to prove to John that popping a football with their teeth was okay was to keep doing it as often as possible. The game they were playing was suddenly a lot more Keep Away than Catch.)

Danielle came tumbling back into the yard, Matt close behind, red faced, breathless and gleeful. (Laura didn't stop, just plowed through the clearing and flipped up and over Derek and Stiles straight into the mudroom. Because she was just as much of a drama-starved show-off as everyone else in his family.)

"Anyone setting furniture up yet?" Laura asked, sliding into the bathroom while Danielle and the kids turned Keep Away into Chase, which-- Derek was just glad Edward was there, laughing and pulling John out of the way so he wouldn't get trampled.

A few moments later, Laura was laughing, muffled by the walls. "Think you two can stop sucking face long enough to move some couches?"

Vic and Cara grumbled, but it sounded like they were getting up to help. (Which was good, because Derek didn't plan on moving until the food was ready.)

He maybe should have been paying more attention to whatever John, Edward and Fiona were talking about, but it didn't feel as important as leaning back into Stiles and taking in his scent, his warmth. Basking in the bright greens and tangerine that kept layering and layering over and over in his head.

It could have been hours, was probably just minutes, then Tania was there, leaning over to grin down at him before calling out for the humans (who couldn't hear Laura and Vic arguing about table placement, or the uneven rattle of Alan's engine as it made its way up the drive), "Almost dinner time. If you want to eat, you should probably wash up."

On one hand, food. On the other hand, moving. Derek grumbled low in his throat at the dilemma as the terrors and Matt trampled past. (Stiles at least seemed to feel the same way.)

\-----

Figuring out seating for the big dinners was always a little bit like a complicated round of musical chairs, and new combinations of people meant it was going to be weirder than normal, but--for once Derek wasn't jockeying for position or hanging back to see what his options were going to be. No, Derek was going to sit next to Stiles, and Stiles was going to sit next to John, and John actually _liked_ spending time with the terrors so he'd be next to them.

Derek was part of one of the puzzle pieces everyone else had to fit themselves around. It was weird.

Olivia took her normal spot at the foot of the table, but it was Jacob on her left and Gwen on her right, for a change. John sat next to Gwen, which meant Stiles had the next seat and Derek had to crowd in against his side to avoid ending up where the folding table was pushed up against the kitchen table. (He wasn't complaining. Stiles didn't feel like he minded either.)

Stacia sat next to Jacob, and Edward snagged Stacia-duty before anyone else could make up their minds. Matt snuck in to snag the seat on Derek's right while Laura was complaining about Edward monopolizing the Stilinskis, and when she turned on Matt with a betrayed look, Danielle grabbed the spot next to Edward, across from Derek. (Edward and Danielle both felt irrepressibly smug when Laura realized what had happened.)

Vic and Cara had to sit up by Maria, at the other end of the table, because Cara's shift wasn't necessarily stable so close to her first full moon. Alan sat next to them, his due as a guest to be near the alpha and his duty as an advisor to the pack to check in with the new wolf.

That left only one spot between Matt and Alan, and Laura snagged it before anyone else could, leaning over to blow a raspberry into Matt's hair. Because Laura.

The other side of the table filled up with family units. David's spot next to Maria was left empty, but the next two chairs went to Paul and Niq. (Niq was puffy-eyed but smiling a little, as she watched Paul hold Erin upright in David's chair so Maria could coo at her.) Fiona took the next seat because Tania propped Greg up on the next one down, claiming the seats across from Matt for Peter and herself. 

"Okay, good. No bloodshed this year," Maria quipped, sharing a grin with Tania as Fiona laughed outright. 

John leaned forward to raise both his eyebrows at Maria, but she just shrugged and continued to grin in response. Derek was going to have to explain that she wasn't joking, he could tell. (He still maintained that it wasn't his fault Danielle had fallen off the chair they'd both been angling for the year before and hit the table on her way down.)

Seats decided, Danielle pushed her chair back, presumably to go help with bringing the food out. (It was good that she hadn't forgotten how the pack worked, in the months she'd been away.)  But as she braced to stand, Laura perked up, attention sharpening, and Danielle froze, glaring.

They held the stare, the pack bonds around them lighting up with irritation, challenge, sharp amusement from all quarters (it felt like Olivia was about to start up a silent betting pool.  His family.  What even), when abruptly Stiles shoved _his_ chair back, standing up in a clatter of teenage limbs.  Laura and Danielle both blinked, and he rolled his eyes.  "Seriously, guys."

Point made, he wandered off towards the kitchen and Derek eyed his sisters.  Danielle dropped her shoulders, looked away and to the side for a moment, almost apologetic.  Laura, because she was Laura, looked unrepentant under the faked innocence. 

(Whatever. Stiles didn't feel like he actually minded.

\--Yeah, definitely didn't mind, the burst of sharp edged glee as Stiles came into the kitchen and got first dibs at...something, felt like fireworks inside Derek's head.)

The first of the food platters emerged while Derek was still mentally blinking, Peter and the roast, which meant Olivia got to point at the bits she wanted (always assuming she hadn't raided everything she wanted when she was still in the kitchen.  Just because Derek hadn't caught her at it didn't mean she hadn't done it), and then Gwen got to try to do the same.  The roast was uncooperative, so tender it fell apart every time Peter tried to move an entire slice, so eventually he shoved the platter at John, huffed "Just push what you want off and pass it down" and stalked back to the kitchen.

David was next, with rolls and the first of the salads.  He left the salad with Olivia (who made a face at it because it was Peter's mix, then smirked when Jacob also leaned back and shook his head, letting her pass it on) before walking down the entire length of the table to offer his wife tribute in the form of a kiss on the cheek and a still-steaming bowlful of rolls.  (Derek loftily ignored the way he was carefully scraping off really good-looking pieces of venison onto Stiles' plate in exactly the same form of tribute before passing the plate on to Matt.)

Stiles had the potatoes, in a suspiciously freshly-stirred bowl, and eyed the table for a second before wandering over to...give Derek the bowl.  Derek blinked up at him and Stiles shrugged. "Nobody said how your weird food-passing rules work," he said, turning back for the kitchen.

(And his grandmother was laughing at him. Great.)

Dishes kept coming out, Peter and David leaving them with Maria and Olivia and Stiles gleefully abandoning them at random all around the table. Because his mate.

Laura tried to pass the first salad over Matt's head when it came around. Nearly elbowed him in the head when he jabbed her in the side to make her pull her arm down and in. He ended up with about half the remaining salad dumped (mostly) on his plate, but he just passed what was left in the bowl down and ate the bits that had fallen into his lap and around his plate with his fingers.

Derek was distracted enough by plate-passing and trying not to laugh at Matt that he missed the warning sign of the little heartbeat coming up on his left, the soft thump.

He _couldn't_ miss Danielle's growl, low and grating and full of yellow eyed menace, sincere enough heart rates all around the table spiked up.

(Not Matt's, but then he'd heard Danielle growl like that at the cereal box.)

Patch, perched on Stiles' empty chair between Derek and John with her pupils blown wide and her tail bushed out, nose still a bare inch away from Stiles' filling plate, hovered frozen for about six seconds, then took off, claws scrabbling every which way on the hardwood before finding enough traction to scurry out of the room.

Danielle let her eyes fade back to brown, not-quite smirking at Stiles' plate.

Maria sighed and lobbed a roll down the table at her. "That was a little overkill, sweetie."

Danielle flailed empty hands towards Stiles' chair, not even trying to keep the roll from bouncing off her temple.  "She was _threatening Stiles' food_."

Matt huffed a snicker into his lettuce.  Gwen eked her fork back into her potatoes.  Alan made a noise that might be a snicker of his own, and everyone started to relax.  Fiona was wide eyed still, but Tania was there, bumping up against her side as Greg crowed about his baked potato prey. Stiles, caught in the doorway, felt more amused than anything. John was--

Yeah.

"Dani still isn't used to the cats," Olivia confided to John, stage-whisper loud enough that Stiles heard it. Snorted a laugh before slipping out and back to the kitchen. "And we're all a little protective of Stiles."

"That was almost as funny as the raccoon," Peter agreed, grinning and winking at a suddenly growling Laura as he circled the table to abandon Olivia's salad with Maria.

"What raccoon?" Fiona asked, eyes wide for a new reason now, as she turned on Laura. (She couldn't smell fear, but she had a horrible aptitude for finding embarrassing stories.)

"You'll get a kick out of this story, Dad," Stiles laughed, grabbing the empty salad bowl and leaning over the table to give Dani, of all people, the gravy boat.

Cara was more than happy to tell the story of Stiles' first run with the pack, and the dastardly raccoon that dared walk within rock-throwing range of the pack's newest human, and--John did relax, finally. Not laughing, but not eying Danielle like she might be dangerous. Smiling when she laughed.

Laura might not appreciate being the necessary distraction, but she'd live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No extra links in the notes today, yet again. Sorry! These last few weeks have been pretty rough, between work stress and trying to figure out new meds.
> 
> Feel free to ask if you have questions. I'll try to get to them in a reasonable amount of time.
> 
> [edit: And it's official. I'm not going to have a chapter for 6/30. Until further clarification, I'm going to switch to an every-other-week schedule. I hope it won't last long, I just need to get used to (or drop) the new meds dosage I'm on, because currently the side effects are really messing with my daily routines.]


	73. pie rebellion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow. Would you believe I almost forgot to post this update because I thought I'd done it last night? *facepalm* I have apparently officially hit the point where I'm dreaming about the boring parts of this story, not just the characters and plot.

There was only one scoop of potatoes left in the second bowl when his mom picked it up on her way back to the kitchen. She waved it enticingly in Stiles' direction and grinned when he groaned, slumping down in his seat and leaning as far away from the offer as he could. "Thanks, but no. No to all food. Forever. I'm never eating again."

John snorted and tried to turn a laugh into a cough. It wasn't very convincing, but he tried.

Edward didn't try: he laughed his bright barking laugh (Derek felt Vic perk up from the other end of the table) and tossed his napkin onto his plate, grinning. Danielle was still staring at Stiles in bafflement. "You nearly kept up with _me_. _How_?"

Laura pitched the last piece of bread at her, all smug big-sister mockery. "You just had your hollow leg phase earlier than he did, Dans. Remember what you were like a couple years ago?"

Danielle disdained the bread, batted it down to the table as she stuck her tongue out between her re-dropped fangs and crossed her eyes in Laura's direction. (Two camera-phone shutters obligingly went off. His family.)

David snickered as he made his way down the table, collecting scraped clean plates and lost cutlery (and ruffling Matt's hair as he hunched protectively over his last few brussels sprouts). His eye caught on the abandoned piece of bread and he took another step forward, and Derek leaned against Stiles' side to make a gap. A much bigger gap between him and Matt than his dad was going to get between him and Stiles.

His dad was laughing at him with his eyebrows, but he scooted back the half step he needed to to get the bread. (Stiles, of course, was laughing and fond and smelling of apples. John was looking at Derek over his son's hair and shaking his head, but he was smiling at least.)

"I hope you saved room for pie," David said, reaching around Derek and making a 'gimmie' gesture until Derek handed Stiles' plate over for the stack his father was building.

"For pie, I'll _find_ room."

Most of the table laughed, David included, but under the noise Derek could feel his mother's attention flare in the kitchen. Cupboards opened and closed and, too quietly for any of the humans to hear, she grumbled "Why did we get pumpkin puree and pecans if you weren't going to _use_ them?"

Peter pushed his chair back, rolling his eyes. "Apparently I hid the pies from the kittens so well, my sister can't find them. I'll be back in a minute." He padded off toward the kitchen, exaggerating a chesty grumble as Maria's insulted-alpha growl rolled into the room. (Not loud enough to be serious, at least, but probably audible for humans, if barely.)

One of the oven hinges complained as Peter announced "This is why we never trust you with the oven, oh beloved sister mine," loud enough to be heard at the table. "Try opening it a little more gently next time."

Tania smothered a laugh into Greg's hair as almost everyone at least snickered. (Then perked up with appreciative murmurs at the sudden influx of spiced-pear smell wafting out of the kitchen.)

Under the cover of laughter and muffled chatter, Peter hissed "I'm making those _tomorrow_. They're basically a heart attack in a tin. I'm not giving any to John. Stiles would probably try to kill me."

"Ugh," Maria replied, disgruntledly clattering around after--silverware, from the sound of it? "Do we at least have ice cream?"

"No, oh alpha my alpha. I _expressly_ ignored the gigantic sharpie addition to the grocery list."

His mother let out a grudgingly pleased rumble. Because she was ridiculous, but especially about eggnog and all the weird things people did with it. Such as ice cream.

Derek smothered a snicker of his own, pretending he was laughing at Matt, who was picking thoughtfully through the last of his brussels sprouts for the blackest bits (because he was still the weirdest kid in the family).

Stiles, who knew better, leaned into his side, shoulder tucking behind his as he muttered "What's up?"

Derek turned his head, lips brushing Stiles' cheek and smirking when he shivered. "Pie rebellion," he murmured back. "Mom thought Peter was making something different."

It felt like Stiles was about to say something, but then their bond flared bright with surprise and Stiles twitched away from him, twisting around to glare at his too-innocent looking father.

"Do we want to sort out presents while they're sorting out the pie?" Fiona offered from the other end of the table, distracting both Stilinskis. "I've gotta get out of here before movie time, and I wanna see the kids open their things."

"Movie time?" Stiles asked, but it was mostly lost under the sound of chairs scraping back. Tania was already up, Greg in one arm and lunging behind Edward and Danielle to snag an excitable Jacob before he could dash _under_ the table to get to the tree faster.

"You do presents on Christmas Eve?" John asked, pushing his chair out and following the general drift of everyone toward the tree.

Nobody said anything about the tree, thankfully. Matt and the terrors had decorated it, with Laura and Olivia's help, and almost everything on it was something the family had made. It was more enthusiastic than pretty, and there were definitely more ornaments below the four foot mark than there were above it.

"Just one," Paul offered as he settled himself and Erin at one end of the couch and raised a hand to help Niq hop up to perch on the arm next to him. Easy access to mate and baby, but also easy to get her out of the way if necessary. It made sense.

"And Fiona's and Alan's," Niq added, once she got settled. "But that's for the kids."

"That's just because the rest of us remember to say thanks later," Laura added, dry and amused but settling in her usual position as Christmas elf at one end of the stack.

The terrors and Matt lined up just in front of the tree, tucking their hands under their legs when Danielle settled in as the other Christmas elf and chuffed at them. Stacia and Jacob were wiggling and giggling with excitement while Gwen and Matt were staring under the tree with laser-like focus. (Sometimes, the family resemblance between those two was _blinding_.)

The rest of Paul and Niq's couch was mostly left free for Maria and David. Olivia perched on the other arm, legs sprawled over the cushions like an oversized cat, but that was just to be expected. Tania juggled Greg in one arm and used the other to direct Alan, Fiona and John through grabbing chairs from the table and getting set up wherever there was room for them. Vic, Cara and Edward claimed the other couch, so Derek tugged Stiles down with him to sit on the floor in front of it, smiling when Cara reached down to ruffle Stiles' hair.

The clinking and muttering in the kitchen came to an end while Laura and Danielle were still sorting presents into new stacks, grouped by person. Maria, David, and Peter came back, stopping at the table to drop off the cutting boards they'd used to ferry the dessert plates out, and--right. Kittens. He was still getting used to not being able to leave food where he couldn't see it.

Danielle growled as something attached to one of her presents got caught up in the tree, pulling Derek's attention back. The present was mostly just a flat rectangle, but the ribbons were tied off around wrapped weights that just loved the low hanging garland and bows from other presents.

When she finally got the present free (and finished glaring at Laura, who was at least four presents ahead) Danielle tilted the gift to read the tag and barked a laugh. "For my lovemuffin, from Derek," she announced, lips ticking up along with her heart ('lie', muttered the part of his brain that wasn't struggling to process). "So that's for Stiles, right?"

The dangling weights were each about the right size for two of the markers he'd gotten Stiles, but those had come as a _set_. There'd been a _box_. Derek cast a despairing look Niq's way but only had a moment to take in the way she was carefully looking up at the ceiling, lips pursed against a smile, before he registered the look Stiles was giving him. On the edge of snickering, but somehow incredibly judging all the same.

"I didn't wrap it," he muttered. "I suck at wrapping things. Niq did it for me."

So of course, Stiles twisted back around and beamed in Niq's direction. "You're awesome."

His mate. What even.

The piles in front of the kids became mountains. (Derek wasn't the only one who'd gotten them more than one thing. He never was.) Laura stared, claws ticking out, as Danielle carefully maneuvered the lamp out from behind the tree, festively bundled in a few different types of wrapping paper and looking like a gigantic maraca. (Worse, it even rattled. The fringe was obviously bunched up inside, but bits and pieces of it shook free and slithered against the paper as Danielle tried to figure out where she had room to set it.)

Laura was only distracted from the lamp when Danielle pulled out another box, and probably only because of the color. "Oh my god, my eyes," she protested, as Danielle laughed and waved the bright orange package in her face. (Someone had thought navy would go well with not-quite safety orange. Why, he didn't know, but-- The proof was right there.)

"I like it," Danielle chirped, leaning over to stash the garish thing in _Derek's_ pile.

 _Why_.

Stiles didn't seem too bothered by the stack of boxes his own pile was accumulating, but Derek could see John's eyebrows rising. His eyes darting between the large boxes set aside for _him_ and the slimmer, smaller boxes Fiona and Alan were racking up.

"I think that's everything?" Laura said, ducking down and pushing some of the dried cranberry garland up so she could scan the underside of the tree. "Ack. Wait. Who put cards down here?"

There was a scuffle as Danielle and Laura both wiggled their way partly under the tree, tugging at the tree skirt and pulling flat, red envelopes free from the cloth.

Danielle finished first, coming up with a handful of cards and twitching her head, trying to get her hair out of her face. "Stiles, I am going to _maim_ you later."

"Are not," Stiles tossed back, sticking his tongue out for good measure and curling even more against Derek's side.

John didn't even look uncomfortable this time. Just sighed and covered his face with one hand while the rest of the family laughed.

Laura wiggled her way back out a moment later and waved one of the cards in Stiles' direction, picking pine needles out of her hair with the other. "Are these presents, or just cards?"

Stiles confirmed they were presents and the cards spread out, one to the pile of almost every adult Hale, which was--interesting. (No card for Derek, though.)

"Okay, present picking time," Laura clapped, turning bright eyes to their mother. "Alpha?"

"I think I can survive a little curiosity," Maria grinned, fangs just barely showing. "Give me the card from Stiles."

They didn't really go by hierarchy after that, just one side of the sprawl to the other (ignoring that all the highest ranking pack members were mostly grouped together on that side). Niq rolled her eyes when Dani and Laura looked expectantly at her and Paul, just holding her hands and muttering "When do we ever want anyone else's? Gimmie."

It got a laugh out of everybody as Laura and Danielle both tried to give them stuff from Fiona, then an oddball mix of the pack before Niq growled (human and _adorable_ , not that anyone but Paul dared say so) and got she and Paul got their presents from each other. 

Alan and Fiona both chose Maria's gift, like they did almost every year (Alan out of respect, Fiona out of self preservation). John asked for Maria's gift, but it sounded like he was just following what the others had done. Which--fair.

When the progression got to their couch, Stiles asked for Derek's present, sparking off a brief debate about whether each weighted wrapped thing counted separately or not. (They didn't, and eventually everybody listened to his growling. Not before Niq nearly laughed herself off her perch, though.)

Derek asked for Stiles' present, and Laura and Danielle both reached for his stack. For _different_ presents. Danielle's hand closed over the orange thing, while Laura's was gripping the corner of something wrapped in a holly pattern. (Because they didn't get enough of _that_ around the holiday season, apparently.)

His sisters blinked at each other, then glanced over to Stiles, who winced even though he felt like laughter. "The holly one. The orange one is for tomorrow. Sorry," he said, turning to Derek. "I didn't know you guys did this."

"It's fine," Derek insisted, leaning forward enough to grab his present.

(Lightweight, didn't rattle as it was tilted but something shifted inside. Not a book, probably not art stuff, might be clothes?)

He had to wait until the kids and Christmas elves had gotten their presents, and for the first time in _years_ , the wait felt distinctly unfair.

They'd learned not to let the kids pick by name, since it seemed like half the pack always found a second present they just couldn't resist. Jacob and Matt both pointed out presents from Derek (Jacob went for the Hulk hands, probably because they were one of the bigger boxes. Matt continued his streak of weird and zeroed in on the biggest and most obvious book in his pile), Gwen sniffed out something from her father and liberated it, while Stacia went for bright wrapping paper and got something from Stiles.

The unwrapping went in the same order, always did, so while Danielle was busy selecting her present and Laura was finding the Alan and Fiona presents in the kids' stacks, Maria ripped her card open.

The card made his mom bark a laugh, flipping it around and giving Stiles a red-eyed grin over the dejected looking wolf wearing a santa hat. (Derek really, really hoped that had been photoshopped on. That poor wolf.)

When Maria flipped the card open, her eyes flared again but her shoulders dropped, the breath leaving her chest in a soft "Oh."

Derek couldn't comprehend the feeling his mother was giving out across the bonds, as she pulled out-- (Was it a playing card? It was the right shape, but the back was blank.) 

The feeling, though. It was just--family. Pack. Secure-safe-home-comfort-together. Familiar, but-- It wasn't normally a _feeling_. Not like that, anyway. A single bundled sensation.

Stiles fidgeted at his side, embarrassment streaking purple fingers across their bond. "It, uh, doesn't last long. I mean, you can go back to it later and it'll do that again, but I didn't want to make something too distracting? And it shouldn't work for anyone else. Everybody's had to be tailored to them."

"It's lovely, Stiles," his mother said, finally looking up from the not-card. "You did this for--"

"Almost everyone," Alan cut in with a small but warm smile. "The children aren't settled enough yet for it to work for them."

"But what _is_ it?" Laura protested, leaning over the kids and sniffing in their mother's direction like that was going to help.

Matt's fingers were running over the seams of his first present (rough, uneven seams, because Derek _did_ wrap some of his own presents--or at least tried to), but he perked up immediately at that line, chiming in with a gleeful, "What is it?"

"It's the point of the thing not to know!" Maria finished, sharing a bright spike of joy with Matt that almost drowned out the feeling of petulant betrayal from Laura.

"I hate all of you," Laura groused, while Fiona groaned and scooted her chair closer to Tania so she could collapse on her shoulder with a soft, plaintive "Noooo."

Maria just cackled at both of them and leaned against her husband to peer in and see what he'd opened. (Alan's present, which looked like a string of silent bells on a chain and would probably only make sense when Maria opened her gift from Alan--if it ever made sense to the rest of them at all.)

Olivia opened Edward's present because she already knew he'd brought her chocolate. He did every year.

Fiona unfolded a scarf that she blinked at in confusion for a moment, which Derek could understand. For someone in the flowers business, Fiona didn't really like floral _patterns_ , and at first glance the scarf looked like it was covered in roses.

He could tell the exact moment she noticed all the penises in the pattern, because she pulled the whole thing down into her lap and laughed until she was red in the face. (And that sense of humor was why all of the adults who'd gotten a present from Fiona would never, ever open one of her gifts with kids around ever again.)

Alan's gift was a set of twigs that he carefully wrapped up again and sincerely thanked Maria for. Stiles was a riot of confused and baffled smears, but that was just to be expected. Derek was used to being confused by those exchanges.

Peter got a new knife from Tania, and Tania unwrapped a picture frame and a spill of glossy photos of her family, not a trace of eye-glare in any of them so she could take them to work. 

John's gift from Maria was a tiny brown teapot that had Stiles jerking upright at his side, the bond awash with surprise and--pain, faint and old like an ache he'd just remembered.

Derek had no idea what had just happened, but John's voice shook a bit when he thanked Maria, and he held the teapot cradled in his hands like it was something precious.

Edward unwrapped a framed cross-stitch from Vic that made him snicker and lean over to press a noisy kiss against her cheek, but the joke was lost on the rest of them. It looked like 'My Aak' to Derek, which-- He was just assuming that wasn't English.

Vic got a new airbrush from Cara and Cara got a set of tips for her gun that she'd been lusting over, because his bosses were nothing if not obsessed and predictable. (Granted, he shouldn't talk. He only got one box from both of them that year, and he was kind of hoping it was a new gun setup he could take with him without feeling guilty, when he had to leave.)

Cara poked him in the shoulder with her foot and--right. 

Derek glanced over at Stiles, only to find Stiles already looking back. But. "You should open yours first."

"Nuh-uh," Stiles shook his head, and Derek could feel the amusement flickering through his family. (The impatience bubbling up in his sisters and the kids.) "You go first."

He'd barely opened his mouth to respond when Laura cut in, eyes rolling. "Okay, so you'll go together. On three?"

She didn't wait for their agreement. Just started counting. 

Because Laura.

The wrapping paper went flying at 'three' anyway.

Derek sliced through the tape holding his box together with a claw and--yes. Definitely clothes. He could smell the almost-plastic of the dyes, now. He snuck a glance to the side as he pulled the flaps apart, catching the moment where the marker box, apparently flattened and tucked under the wrapping for the sketchbook, fell out into Stiles' lap. Saw the startled surprise before he started laughing, reaching eagerly for one of the little marker bundles.

But Stiles' eyes slid back to Derek, expectant and pointed, even as he was twisting the wrapping off his markers.

Derek pulled the cloth out of the box and made himself look away. Look at the present.

It wasn't anything special at first glance. Just a black teeshirt, or--two of them. But when he shook the first one out, there was a white triskele printed on the chest. _Stiles'_ triskele, right down to the spacing, size, and placement.

Stiles felt a little nervy, but more interesting was the sudden spike of interest-approval-amusement from his sisters. His sisters who, he would have thought, were just seeing a plain back of the shirt.

Derek turned the shirt around, not really surprised to see his own triskele on the back.

Both of them. Both of them caught in the same symbol, chosen separately and before they'd really been anything but a possibility. 

Stiles' nerves vanished, settling into a smug, apple-flavored joy. "They're both the same. I figured I'd probably end up with it pretty often, so--"

So they'd always have one to trade. Stiles was _definitely_ better at being a werewolf than Derek was.

He leaned over to kiss Stiles, reveling in the way his lips fell open after a moment, not to go deeper but to _laugh_ , and it was perfect.

He could hear Danielle groaning in the background, and Laura taking advantage of their turn technically being over to rip into her own present, but he didn't really care.

Laura loved her lamp. (Vic punched the air triumphantly as Laura got the last of the paper off and gave the monstrosity an adoring look. Which he only knew because Cara kicked him in the back of the head as she bent out of range of Vic's elbows. Edward wasn't so lucky, but was apparently laughing too hard to mind.) The lamp was _definitely_ going to end up in that corner Derek could see from the bathroom. He just knew it. 

Danielle opened Fiona's present, because Fiona still thought of her as a little kid so _she_ had never opened one of those to find sex toys, porn, or almost-porn. Her luck was still holding, because she got an innocuous looking computer game that, all the same, left her beaming.

Vic and Edward left the couch while the kids started in on their round, handing out plates of pie with little scoops of the ice cream. Edward winked at Derek and Stiles when he dropped off a plate for them. A plate. For both of them. Two slices of pie, extra ice cream, and two forks. Because his family.

(He supposed he didn't mind. It made Stiles laugh and blush, radiating pleased amusement.)

Jacob put his Hulk-hands on right away and started bouncing and dancing his way around the room, swinging them up in the air and punching furniture. (Derek was just glad he hadn't hit anyone with them. Yet.) Gwen pulled out a thankfully sturdy looking princess dress and immediately stood up to twirl around with it to see how the skirt flared. Stacia lit up the whole room when she pulled out a little foam Mjolnir, and Derek really, really wanted to know where Stiles had gotten that, even while he despaired of all the furniture they were definitely going to end up needing to repair, once all the presents had been opened. Matt nearly shouted when his 'book' fell apart. Beamed at Derek when he realized he had _two_ and immediately flipped open the one on cat behaviors, just like Derek expected he would. He'd get to the canine behaviors later and probably fill all of their lives with uncomfortable questions.

(Derek was ready. He'd already read the book to prepare for them. It was going to be the best prank he'd played on his family in years, if it worked out.)

The wrapping paper was still flying, but Derek already knew what to expect. Focused on the warm press of Stiles against his side instead. On gently spiced pear, and tart cranberries, and the melting rivulets of eggnog ice cream soaking through the crust.

\-----

Fiona and Alan left once the pie was finished and Matt fetched the Nightmare Before Christmas DVD.

It didn't feel wrong to curl up on his side with Stiles leaning back against his stomach, one hand in his hair, while Laura nestled into the curl of his legs. For John to be laughing with Paul as they fetched hot chocolate and ciders for whoever wanted it.

The last viewing of Nightmare every year had become a family thing. A pack thing. It would have felt weird if Alan or Fiona had stayed. (Fiona had, the first few years. It hadn't been a thing, then. Became one _because_ she always left.)

The Stilinskis just felt--right. It would have only felt wrong if they _weren't_ there.

Derek let a pleased rumble build in his chest as the opening started and Stiles snorted derisively at the intro narrative. Started humming along with the opening credits, just like the rest of them.

Barely resisted the urge to pull his mate down down to sprawl on the floor with him when the werewolf appeared for the first time and Stiles slumped into his side, shaking with laughter and flooding the bonds with indignant hilarity.

Because his mate.

Because his mate was the _best_ mate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tattoo Artist of the Week:** [Gene Coffey](http://tattooculture.net/skill-type/residents/gene) of Brooklyn NY (a Tattrx gallery can be found [here](http://tattrx.tumblr.com/tagged/Gene-Coffey)).
> 
> And since the question comes up occasionally: I do not currently have a collected links list of all the artists I've linked to since starting this story. When I'm done with the writing, before I post the last chapter, I plan to go back through all my end notes and collect the links, find new links for artists (or tumblrs) who've moved, and post a consolidated list in the final end notes.
> 
> We're still on every-other-week updates, so if I _can_ I will have an update for 7/14, but it will probably be 7/21. My dreams of finishing by August are looking like a no-go. Two full years of writing this story. Omg.
> 
> The cross stitch says муда́к, which is hopefully Russian for stupid ass/git. I did have that checked by a friend who speaks Russian, but she's out of practice. As always, if I've made some sort of hilarious or horrible mistake, feel free to tell me how to correct it.
> 
> I couldn't resist the orange and blue for Derek's present. In case anyone is wondering why an artist is having such a problem with orange and blue together, I'd suggest remembering the orange and blue striped shirt and turning up the intensity on the orange by about eleven. But leave the blue a sort of dull, dark color. It's not the blue/orange he minds, it's the different levels of saturation and brightness.
> 
> Like the sound of the pie? [It's just as good as it sounds](http://www.completelydelicious.com/2012/11/cranberry-pear-pie.html), I promise. Though I threw in a dash of cloves and ginger, too.
> 
> For the curious, what Maria gave John was a yixing clay teapot. They absorb a little bit of the tea during the brewing process, and if you make the same kind of tea in them repeatedly, the pot itself will start to take on the scent of that tea. (Why did John and Stiles react the way they did? I'm not telling.)
> 
> We're almost at the end of the holiday fluff, which means we'll soon be in the home stretch of this story. I hope.


	74. rice doesn't come from potatoes

Everything was storm clouds. Comfortable blacks and greys he just wanted to roll around in piled up and up in misshapen lumps, mottled with purple and glazed at the edges with flickers of pale orange and vivid green.

He didn't need to look to know the weight on his torso was Stiles, that it was Stiles' head on his shoulder. Not with the scent of apples in his nose, and all the shades of lovebird lighting up his brain.

Didn't need to look for that. Might need to, to make sense of the footsteps.

"Is this normal?"

"Pretty normal, yeah."

Derek slit an eye open and grumbled low in his chest. He couldn't quite remember where and when he was, but the voices were irritating.

His mother's face slid into his field of vision, eyes smiling as she whispered, "Sorry, kiddo. Stiles needs to go home."

That sounded like a horrible idea, but--alpha. He didn't complain when she stooped down to lift Stiles up, or when Peter sidled in and settled Gwen and Jacob against his chest instead. (Didn't protest even when Gwen growled in her sleep and aimed a kick at his hip before slumping over his side, starting to drool.) 

(Whatever. She'd done worse.)

He vaguely processed John in the background, holding the sketchbook and bag of markers and the box his teapot had come in, shaking his head but smiling. 

Then he was asleep again.

\-----

He woke up to birds chirping somewhere nearby, a desperate need to pee, and a tiny set of teeth gnawing absently on his forearm.

And a fake-shutter sound. Because his family.

He opened his eyes, glaring, discovering it was Tania with the camera when she shrugged, grinning as she dropped the phone into her pajama pocket. "Don't be like that," she mock-grumbled at him. "I get to take pictures when my family's being adorable."

She did at least crouch down to move first Gwen (who'd decided at some point during the night that his bladder made an excellent pillow, christ), then Jacob (balled up mostly in the curve of Derek's armpit, face mashed against his forearm, chewing) up onto the couch behind him and let them squirm around to sort out who was going to be the pillow before draping an afghan over both of them.

The weight on his legs didn't feel right, so Derek did a reflexive check for the third terror--curled up with Matt on the other couch--and that looked like Danielle pretzeled into the armchair. 

Which meant that was probably Laura flopped on his legs.

( _How_ did he keep winding up being a pillow for everybody? This was getting ridiculous.)

He pushed himself up onto an elbow to confirm it was Laura before rolling away and to his feet. Laura hit the floor with a disoriented growl as Tania cut off a sharp bark of laughter.

If anybody else woke up, Derek didn't notice, more focused on walking without falling into, onto, or over anything. Not tripping. Getting to the nearest bathroom.

\-----

Stacia and Matt were both awake when he got back, still snuggled up together and blinking slowly at the snoring afghan on the other couch. Tania was taking pictures again.

Danielle was still in the armchair, but she was twitching like she was on the edge of waking up and resented the idea.

Laura was nowhere to be seen until an arm snaked around his neck, pulling him down and twisting until his center of balance was too far off to really do anything with.

"Jerk," Laura muttered, digging her knuckles into his scalp before letting him go. Smirking as he stumbled his way upright. "That's what you get for abandoning pillow duties."

"Ah, children," their dad sighed from the kitchen. "And here I thought we were done raising you two."

"Never!" Laura exclaimed, quiet but still gleeful as she practically skipped out of the room, probably intent on stealing some of the bacon before it went in the oven.

Derek flopped back down where he'd been, stretching absently as Paul wandered through from the kitchen to collect Stacia (and mini-Mjolnir). He had Erin in one arm and passed Stacia a mostly-full cup of coffee (much to her nose-wrinkled disgust--she hadn't forgotten the last time she'd stolen a sip of her mom's coffee, then) so he could bundle her up in his other arm and wander away again.

Vic and Cara were still in their room, his grandmother was asleep...somewhere in the house. Not in her usual spot. Someone was showering. Edward was muttering into his phone on the back porch.

It was almost perfect, even with the crick in his neck from spending the night on the floor, standing in for a pillow or three.

It just needed Stiles.

\-----

Matt had just finished stealing a fried mushroom right off Derek's plate when his phone buzzed. While he was distracted fishing his phone out, Laura went for a slice of Derek's bacon and Matt turned his fork right around to threaten Laura until she pulled back. (He wasn't entirely sure what was going on there, but having his bacon defended was nice.)

_Omg ur famly GAVE US A KITCHn_

Derek couldn't help the snort of amusement. Set his phone down next to his plate, ignoring his mother's quirked eyebrow from across the table.

_I take it u had prblms w our kitchen stuff_  
 _Snob_  
 _Thanks though. Its awesome_

His phone hadn't even had a chance to go dark. Both Laura and Matt were staring interestedly down at the buzzing, and the tilt to his mother's eyebrows was getting less amused.

Derek pushed his chair back and tried to look apologetic, even as his phone buzzed again as he snatched it up. "I'm gonna just--"

Laura went for his abandoned last piece of bacon, pretend-yelping as Matt went for her hand (he wasn't being serious about it, at least. Didn't even draw blood). His mother rolled her eyes and went back to grilling Peter about something to do with parsnips and potatoes at the restaurant.

He took three jumps up to the second floor, not trusting himself to get past the holly when he was distracted. Woke his phone up and clicked on the message as he walked down the hall.

_Cn i com ovr l8r?_

Grinning, Derek hit the icon to call Stiles just as he opened the door to his room.

And was hit in the face with the smell of Niq and Paul and baby and a spiky, disjointed knot of distress.

He choked on the air and crossed his room quickly to push the window open. Was nearly back out again when he heard Stiles' "Uh, hello?" Hesitant and confused. Like it wasn't the first time he'd said something.

"Sorry," Derek managed to get out, closing the door behind himself and heading for Matt's room. Matt's room would smell right, and Matt was human. Wouldn't pick up on the traces of emotional soup Derek was sure to leave behind. "I was surprised by a smell."

"I heard a door," Stiles drawled, something tapping in the background, while Derek stooped to pick up a Scritch-Scratch up on the way. (She flailed, long limbs splaying everywhere, but settled into the crook of his arm as soon as he had her secure, big eyes--had they always been green?--flicking over the walls like she was tracking an insect.) "You're home, right?"

"I'll explain later," he promised, carefully shutting the door to Matt's room behind him with his heel. Didn't want to get into the whole thing about Niq and Erin again. Not where Paul could hear him. "And of course you can come over. I'll warn you, though. It's just going to be a lot of post-present crazy."

He flopped down onto Matt's bed, relaxing into the smell of family while the Scritch-Scratch wiggled away to investigate the sheets.

"That's okay. Maybe I'll bring some of the stuff your family gave Dad. 'Cause neither of us have any idea what some of this stuff is for or how they work."

Whoops.

"Um. I'm sure Peter wouldn't mind explaining anything I can't?" 

The Scritch-Scratch had successfully burrowed under the top sheet, so he poked the sheet with his toes. As the cat scuffled wildly after his foot, he added "Were there any problems, or--"

Stiles cut him off with a guttural noise, and without the bond Derek couldn't tell if it was amused or offended. "No! I mean, it's fine." Stiles snorted, more familiar and amused this time. "Dad was actually pretty relieved that most of his presents were random kitchen stuff. He was feeling like he hadn't put in enough effort on the stuff he gave you guys before he realized his presents were mostly just-- I don't even know, but they were really, really random and obviously your handiwork."

"I just told Peter you needed a new set of knives, and a knife block," Derek defended, wiggling his fingers as the cat stalked back up the bed and grinning as she pushed her head against his hand, purring. "Then he started asking me questions about what you _did_ have."

"Okay. So...blame Peter," Stiles said, voice rich with laughter. "Got it."

"Exactly."

"So. Yeah. Anyway. Dad's working this afternoon. Normally I'd go hang out with Scott, but he's got plans for a frigid, romantic walk with Allison, and I don't really feel like being a third wheel for Christmas. Or hanging out with Scott's mom. Just. No. She doesn't like me that much."

"I don't understand how," Derek said, drawing his words out and smiling at the affronted noise Stiles made.

"See if you get kisses now, jerk."

Derek scoffed, and Stiles sighed, flamboyant and exaggerated. "Okay, yeah, fine, so that's probably not happening. But still."

"Ahunh. We'll see you later, though? We haven't done presents yet, should we save yours?"

There was spluttering from down the line (which was probably a good thing. Probably covered up the grunt Derek made when the Scritch-Scratch walked across his stomach while he wasn't expecting it), then "You haven't done _presents_? It's almost _nine_ and you have the terrors in the house. _How_?"

"Training," Derek answered, trying to keep his voice serious while using his free hand to fend off an affectionate cat who wanted to cuddle up next to his head (and probably drool in his ear). "And all the kids falling asleep in the main room. We didn't wake up until the adults came down to get us."

"We?" Stiles sounded gleeful.

"If you ask very nicely, Tania might share her pictures," Derek admitted grudgingly.

Amusement flared across the back bonds, a yellow-red burst that curled up in his chest and pulled with the gentle focus of his alpha.

It wasn't compulsion, just a request, but. 

Well. He knew what the terrors were like. And presents.

"I have to go," he cut in before Stiles could find his words again. "The family's done with breakfast, and now I'm the one holding up presents."

Stiles laughed. "Right. Well go on then. Should I call before coming over, or--"

"The Jeep's loud," Derek said, pushing himself up and ignoring the Scritch-Scratch's indignant squeep at losing her cuddle buddy. "We'll have plenty of warning."

"No kisses for you," Stiles muttered, totally failing at sounding serious. "But I'll see you later."

He hung up and Derek opened the door, watching the Scritch-Scratch flounce out, tail held high and making a beeline for the kids' bathroom.

Derek had no idea _why_ , but cats.

And besides, there were presents to open.

Everyone was in basically the same spots as the night before, just spread out a bit now that the tables had been hauled out of the room and the extra humans had left. (There was still an empty spot to Tania's left, for John, even though they all knew he wouldn't be coming.) The only real change was that the piles were being ferried out from the tree to whoever they went with, which--mostly meant Derek's spot in front of Vic and Cara was taken up by boxes, but whatever. He just moved to the far end.

They tried to open one present at a time (always did), but it usually turned into two or three so it was sometimes hard to keep track. Especially with something as small as envelopes thrown into the mix.

Even if he wasn't watching, Derek could tell whenever someone opened one of Stiles' cards. It wasn't the same sensation that his mother had had, but every time one of them looked at the spell Stiles had drawn for them it was a calming, joyous flutter through the entire pack. Peter and Laura's felt soothing, David and Danielle's uplifting, Niq's was steadying while Paul and Edward's felt like family through and through.

They tried trading the first few cards around, but it was exactly like Alan had said. They didn't do anything except for the person they were made for. (They were lovely, though. Delicate messes of thin lines that Stiles must have used a ruler for. Too straight and even for anything else.)

Laura _loved_ the shirt. Pulled it on right away (despite the new-shirt smell) and posed for Tania with the Eeyore doll. (Greg, bless his tiny heart, bit Laura when Tania handed him off so she could open one of her own things. And since Tania's hands were busy, Peter took the photo for her. Because his family.)

Maria's half of Alan's present for the alpha pair combined with the silent bells to make a warding charm for the house. And, incidentally, an elegant wind chime for the back porch. Because why not?

Derek was just turning away from watching his parents figure out their newest magical alarm system when Cara barged into his side, the box of inks and hair dye he'd given her rattling ominously behind his back.

Then it was his turn (and Niq's, apparently), judging by the expectant glances. He grabbed his gift from Laura and ripped into it, rolling his eyes at her at finding three new (to him) pairs of running shoes.

"What?" she asked, all fake affront and indignation. "You keep trashing yours. I'm just thinking ahead."

He threw one of her shoes at her. She batted it out of the air, smack into Danielle's pile of loot.

When Danielle picked it up to throw back, growling, something pink fell out of the toe. Her growl cut off into a curious noise as she snatched it up off the ground. "Oh, hey, ice cream shop!" she announced when she got a good look at it. "Mine now," she added, flashing her fangs playfully at him, then flailing as Laura tackled her. ( _Right_ into the edge of Jacob and Stacia's remaining piles. Of course.)

While they wrestled (and Niq waded in to help the terrors with a sigh), he investigated the rest of the shoes, coming up with a gift card for Floyd's and the good Chinese place in town stuffed into the other right shoes. When he looked up, Laura had sacrificed her head, letting Danielle lock her knees around her neck, so she could get at their sister's left hand, pry open her fingers, and reclaim the third gift card.

She promptly squirmed back out of Danielle's hold, retrieved the shoe, and dropped both triumphantly into Derek's lap.

"Your hair looks like a koosh ball," Danielle muttered as she sorted herself and her presents and the floor out again.

"Still won!" Laura grinned, plopping back down next to her own pile and pulling her scrunchie out. (She still looked like she'd lost a fight with a light socket, but it helped with the koosh effect.)

\-----

The kids each had nearly full arsenals in no time. Matt had his Nerf gauntlet on, the first round of ammo stored in the utility belt that came with the Batman mask Stiles had given him (the bolts didn't _quite_ fit in the compartments, but Matt made it work), and was wearing an arc reactor shirt. 

Stacia had a Mjolnir necklace, a Nerf crossbow, a Thor plushie and a Lilo plushie, a princess dress like Gwen's, and a tiny Captain America shield. (There was more, but that's what she was wearing and dragging around with her at all times, which was a sight.)

Gwen changed into her dress when Stacia did, so she had a skirt full of castle and space Legos that she was gloating over like a dragon. She also had about twelve barrettes stuck in her hair, because Stiles had given her a big pack of them and she'd wanted to wear as many as possible after she heard he'd be coming over. She was wearing the Stitch slippers, and had a Stitch-looking earflap hat that Derek thought was actually supposed to be a koala, but-- Well, the artist failed in the best way possible.

She also had a foam sword. So did Jacob. Because in all honesty, they kind of did need a way to hit each other that didn't involve the option for claws.

Jacob had tried to open his presents with his Hulk hands before going back to fingers. He had a plushie Hulk and Black Widow, and Superman pajamas, some sort of goopey sticky stuff that Derek could already tell someone was going to try to eat, and a princess dress. Because even if he didn't seem that interested in it, he'd have felt left out if he didn't get one too.

When Derek finally felt Stiles, heard the Jeep, there were still presents everywhere. Piles more presents. Tania had only opened four of hers so far, and Derek wasn't much ahead of her. (Though Vic and Cara _had_ gotten him a new gun setup, which he thought put him lightyears ahead of everyone else.)

Gwen hopped to her feet in her excitement once the noise was loud enough for tiny ears and Tania already had her phone coming up, angled it toward Gwen at the sudden movement and grinned victoriously as the shutter sound went off right as Gwen's face fell into horrified dismay, all her legos spilling out around her feet.

Tania's instincts, as a mother if not a wolf, were terrifying.

Jacob crowed and bolted for the door, tripping over Matt's careful stack of video games and getting scooped up by Paul before he could make the door.

Maria rubbed at her temple, but she was smiling when she turned to Derek. "Are we sure he knows what he's getting into?"

Derek huffed and turned his attention back to helping Gwen gather up her legos, dropping them into boxes haphazardly so they could _contain_ them. (Organizing would come later. Would have to. Matching every piece with the set it came from was the only way to make sure they got them all, and even if they'd survive the experience, the _last_ thing they needed was a baby swallowing a lego.)

There was a scuffle and a laughing shout outside, but the door hadn't--

Danielle and Cara were leaning out a window, laughing, and in the distance Stiles was shouting "Put me _down_ , Laura!"

He was laughing, though. Felt exasperated, but amused. Happy.

"Oh my god, you wore it!" came a triumphant chortle from Laura as they moved toward the house, finally. "Hoodie hoodie hoodie."

Derek felt his eye twitch. Patted Gwen on the head and thought he muttered an apology as he stood up. Went for the window himself because it was _closer_ , damnit.

" _Oh_ my god. Put me down and _stop rubbing your face on me_."

"Mrph."

His sister. _Why_.

Laura had set Stiles down on the porch by the time Derek got there. Just smirked at him and batted her eyelashes like the innocent little creature she'd _never been_.

Her scent was _all over_ Stiles.

 _Stiles'_ scent wasn't even all over Stiles. He smelled like plastic and the empty-everything smell of something fresh from the store.

It was the jacket's fault. Bright red with black details and more structure, more substance, than any hoodie Derek had ever seen. Even if there was a hood, that was definitely a coat.

That Laura had gotten him. Brand new, apparently, and--definitely the right size. Judging by the tension at the shoulders and how the whole thing nipped in at Stiles' waist, anyway.

It looked fantastic. It just smelled wrong, so it had to go.

Derek let them get inside, let Stiles toe his shoes off and unzip the jacket before he started tugging it off.

Laura snorted from where she was still wiping her feet off on the mat, but broke into a brilliant grin when Derek got the hoodie off Stiles and threw it to her.

"Hey!" Stiles objected, but Laura was already pulling it on and running back into the main room, shouting "Finders keepers!" over her shoulder.

Like that was at all appropriate.

Stiles tried to follow after her, but Derek caught him around the hips. Pressed his face into the curve of Stiles' neck and pulled him close.

"This is a werewolf thing, isn't it?" Stiles sighed, bringing a hand up to scratch at Derek's hair. 

"It smelled wrong," he protested, eyes dropping shut at the perfect sensation of nails against his scalp.

"I'm still taking it back home with me," Stiles said, turning his face toward the main room so Laura would know he was talking to her.

(From the sound of it, she was passing the new hoodie around the family. It'd smell like pack in no time. So maybe he'd let her live, even if she was _never_ going to stop gloating over the fact that Stiles had actually worn what was apparently her present.)

"I'll get it back for you," Derek promised, pulling away after Stiles' normal scent finally started coming out again. "After it stops smelling wrong."

Stiles sighed and slapped the back of his hand against Derek's chest as they pulled apart. Right next to the triskele. "You don't seem to have a problem with this. Doesn't it smell wrong?"

Derek shrugged. Normally it would have, but. "Matt and Stacia slept on it last night. It's fine."

He loved it when he could surprise Stiles into gawking, mouth hanging open and jaw working like there were sounds he just couldn't quite get out.

"C'mon," he huffed, pushing Stiles toward the main room. "We're holding up presents."

Stiles tripped on air, righted himself, and huffed back at Derek. "You're not done yet? More restraint than me, man."

"There's too many of us to go all at once," Olivia offered as they crossed the threshold into the room. "It's a process."

Vic was wearing Stiles' jacket now, hugging it around herself and beaming at them while Cara and Edward snuggled up against either side of her. Because sometimes Vic was the worst, instead of Laura.

"Yeah, well, I've got a box of what I hope is just mysterious kitchen equipment in my Jeep for you guys to try and explain to me later," Stiles huffed, plopping himself down right where Derek had been sitting earlier.

Derek settled next to Stiles with a happy rumble and reached past him to the next present on his pile. 

(Caramels from his grandmother. Homemade at one of her friends' houses and wrapped in wax paper, and probably filled with gooey chocolate, because Olivia was predictable in the best way.)

It was harder to keep track of presents after that. Too focused on Stiles and _his_ flickering attention. It kept him aware of the highlights, though. Pulled his attention to his mother's sharpened focus when Edward's gift turned out to be a copy of another pack's stories and history. To Paul when his gift from Stacia turned out to be from all three terrors; little plaster molds of their hand prints, with their names scratched in clumsy and awkward around the edge. To Tania just before she bundled up the fabric in her hands and started hitting Peter with it (it was a kind of hideous cat print, and Derek had the feeling it was probably scrubs). 

His own presents were a decent mix of normal stuff, gag gifts, and--acknowledgement that he was going to leave again.

Peter gave him a basic set of his favorite knives, with a note tucked into the box that said _For the brief period in which you'll have a kitchen of your own_ , because Peter. Niq's gift was a coupon for her help finding him a place to live the next year (and a gift card for the local art supply store, because it wasn't like she let any of them move out without her help anyway). An envelope from his parents held threats if he tried to furnish his next place on his own budget (again), and informed him that they _would_ be coming with when he moved and making sure he had everything he needed (which he tried not to get choked up over, but probably failed).

Tania gave him a few shirts, already washed and run through the dryer with the kids' laundry, from the smell of it. A new (to him) arm case for the iPod he didn't actually listen to from Matt, and drawings from Gwen and Jacob. Paul gave him a fuzzy hat made to look like a wolf's head, with felt fangs and everything (Paul bent himself nearly in half to laugh into his mate's thigh while Derek glared at him and Stiles gleefully pulled it on over Derek's head). 

The hat came off again when Derek opened a present that made _his_ wrapping jobs look professional, and found a black cat-ear headband from Stacia. (She beamed when he put them on and thanked her very much, and he tried not to melt when she told him it was because he was Pitch's human and they should match and he was practically a kitty himself because of how much they liked him.)

(He knew who to really blame for that gift, at least. The headband smelled like thrift store and Laura.)

He got the book Black Tattoo Art from Edward, and it made the tips of his fingers itch with the need to leaf through it. Danielle gave him a rice cooker, and broke out laughing like a complete loon when he got a good look at it. Fell off her chair when Stiles squinted at it and asked why she'd given both of them the same thing.

Which left just the orange thing.

Derek shook the box at Stiles while Olivia fawned over the sweater Peter had given her and hissed, "Why, with the blinding?"

(The box rattled a little. Weight sliding from side to side.)

"Jerk," Stiles huffed, pushing against his side. "It was the only not-Christmasy wrapping stuff I could find."

"I don't--"

"Dude, that's for your birthday, not for Christmas," Stiles glared and jabbed him with an elbow. "I had to make the distinction _somehow_."

And--oh.

"Thanks," he settled on, instead of reminding Stiles that they didn't really do birthdays. That he didn't really know what to do with this.

Aside from open it, when his turn came around again.

There was a now-familiar card on top of everything and fallen most of the way off to one side and it was--a lot more intense, first hand. Love-family-safety-comfort-calm flowing through his head so abrupt and strong it would have been _violent_ if it weren't--that. 

Derek flipped the card over by feel and blinked his eyes open, not wanting to get sucked into it again (not yet, anyway). 

And that left him with--an envelope.

A large, white envelope with _Stiles'_ name and address on it.

"I got my early admissions back," Stiles offered with a shrug, when Derek looked over at him. "I only got in to one of 'em, so--unless you've got an objection to Long Beach, I guess that's where I'm going?"

"Long Beach?" Danielle nearly yelled, clambering over Laura to get to Derek and peer over his shoulder. "That's, like, half an hour away from me."

"Yeah. I didn't know that until after I'd applied," Stiles lied, making a face at Dani and getting a face back in return.

"It's a good school," Vic offered, pulling Danielle down between her and Cara so she'd have a better view of the acceptance packet. "Better for what you need than Berkeley anyway."

"I can't _believe_ you didn't get into Berkeley too," Cara grumbled. "Your scores were great."

So--far from home, far from family, but close to Danielle and close to Stiles.

He could work with that.

He could start actually planning, now that he knew where they were going.

There was still some sort of grumbling going on between Vic, Cara, Danielle and Stiles (Edward was laughing at all of them and leaning as far out of the way as possible to keep himself out of it), but Derek didn't bother trying to track it. Leaned in to kiss Stiles' cheek and grinned when they all went quiet, Stiles blinking at him with surprise and joy spreading over his face and their bond.

"Thank you."

Stiles rolled his eyes again, but it was hard to sell that when he was blushing that hard too. "It's not that great of a gift, really. It's just-- I couldn't think of anything else that was--"

"It's perfect, and I love you."

Stiles hid his face in the curve of Derek's neck, but Derek could feel the grin that spread against his skin.

\-----

"I _know_ rice doesn't come from potatoes," Stiles muttered later, brandishing a box at Peter and completely ignoring the pained expression he was getting. "So what the hey is a potato ricer and why would we ever need one?"

This was even better than the garlic press, and the blender Stiles claimed was too intimidating to use.

Best Christmas ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tattoo Artist of the Week:** [Carola Deutsch](http://www.decasa.at/) of Decasa Kreativ Studio in Graz, Austria. (Her work can also be found on [Tattrx](http://tattrx.com/artists/carola-deutsch).)
> 
> It's been pointed out a few times that the links in a lot of the earlier chapters are dead. I'm not going back and fixing them, in part because it would not only take a large amount of time that I could use for writing but also because I expect that the ones I can easily fix might just go dead again. Instead, I am going to put together a master list of links to go in the end notes on the last chapter, which will include new updated links to every tattoo artist linked to.
> 
>  **Next Update:** Definitely August 4th, but it might happen next week. I'll try to keep y'all posted.
> 
> Notes for this chapter:
> 
> David is not an alpha werewolf. In this chapter, Derek referred to his dad as part of the alpha pair, but in this instance it's just because David is the mate of the alpha. He doesn't have an alpha wolf's power, but within the pack he has nearly matching rank. 
> 
> Danielle's gifts to Derek and Stiles are an injoke for Danielle and possibly Danielle only. She's fascinated by the food her boyfriend's roommate makes in his rice cooker. (This was mentioned back in chapter 68, just before Edward showed up.)
> 
> I don't think CSU Long Beach actually does early admissions, and I didn't check on Berkeley. I also don't know anything about which school would actually be more difficult to get into. I essentially hit a wall on the research I was able to do for this chapter, so went with what's here. I'm aware of the flaws, and I'll address them again for the editing run once I'm done with the story.
> 
> And in case anyone's missed that little tidbit. **This is not a final draft**. I will be editing this story and posting a new, cleaner version of it at some point. So if you think the story is dragging or too long, you do have the option of just ignoring it until the new version is done. I can't promise it'll be much better in terms of length, but it should be a tighter, better read.
> 
> (This version will remain available, to preserve the comments and for those who prefer it.)


	75. I want to know what it is for you

Stiles kept coming by. Still checked in before he got into hearing range of the house, but by the 27th John just called to see if he should show up for dinner at the Hale house too.

(Which was always a yes. Obviously.)

Peter used the opportunity to make Stiles actually use his new potato ricer, much to Stiles' vocal disapproval. Derek hung around, mincing onions and heading Stiles off from doubling up on any spices by leaning into his personal space and scenting his neck until Stiles' focus was totally off the food. (It didn't take long for Stiles to completely forget the last few things he'd done, once distracted, so he asked or went by taste. It worked.)

When he wasn't threatening Peter with kitchen equipment, Stiles was--everywhere. Talking about college and homework and the horror of 8 am classes with Danielle. Waving around a feathers-on-string toy for the cats (and usually a few curious wolves, drawn in by the whistling flutter that made their instincts sit up and take notice, even though they all _knew_ it was just that damn cat toy _again_ ). Playing chase with the terrors until he fell over clutching his sides and moaning about dying (Edward was probably never going to stop laughing about the way all three terrors had panicked the first time it happened). Faceplanting on the kitchen table as his sketches were more or less voluntarily critiqued by Vic or Cara. Helping Matt try to rescue darts from cousins and cats. Curling up with Derek, smelling of apples and happy as he tried (usually successfully) to provoke Edward into another ramble.

Even with everything, they spent a lot of time in Derek's room, curled up together trading lazy kisses under the hum of the radio.

(He changed the station from classic rock to ancient jazz when Laura moaned about getting Motown songs stuck in her head, but really? Laura could bite him. That's what she got for listening in.)

Sometimes lazy kisses turned into not-so-lazy kisses. Turned into hands sneaking up under shirts, teeth scraped over necks, big hands gripping firm over Derek's hip, his side, his shoulder. Ended in frustrated groans when they pulled apart (but no complaints, and he couldn't remember when that had changed).

Sometimes lazy kisses turned into whispered conversations, words falling out of Derek's head like colors. Like pencil over paper. (Sometimes even literally pencil over paper, getting graphite dust and smears of colored pencil in his sheets.)

"Are you sure you still want the triskele for your chest?" Derek asked, fingers skimming aimlessly over Stiles' back, where his shirt (one of _their_ shirts, marked not only with their symbols but now their scents) rode up just enough to let him have some skin. 

Stiles twitched under his hand, turning more onto his side to face Derek (sort of) and revealing just the edge of the white spirals Derek already knew were there. "What?"

Derek skimmed his hand in, brushed his fingers over the design as best he could without tugging at it, pulling the fabric out of where it had bunched up under Stiles' armpit (and that definitely wasn't because the way it was rucked up gave him belly skin and slightly-ticklish ribs to pet, nope). "I'm not trying to talk you out of it. I-- It means a lot to me, that you want it. That you wanted it on your own. But you-- When we were talking about it, you said it was for you. The design for your back is for your parents, but this was supposed to be for you, and--"

"And it still is," Stiles cut him off, rolling his eyes and flopping back on his stomach. "I don't even know what it means to you, just-- We haven't talked about it, so I don't know. But I wasn't thinking about you when I picked it so, yeah. It's still mine. It's still for me. I still want it for that."

Hearing it made something in Derek's chest relax, crinkled rusty brown smoothing out, going orange as Stiles snorted and flailed an arm over to bop at his shoulder.

"Dork. We probably should though," Stiles said, sounding more interested than Derek was entirely comfortable with as he turned his head, propping his face on his arm so he could see Derek's face. "Talk about our designs, I mean. I want to know what it is for you."

"It's history," fell out of his mouth as his hand sought out the curve of Stiles' hip. Got a grip and held on. "It's--a reminder, I guess. Vic has to touch it up once or twice a year." He was nearly due again, actually. He'd have to ask if they could work that in before they were back to full hours again. "It reminds me of mistakes I've made, so I won't make them again. But it's also a family thing. It's been the Hale mark since--" He shook his head. "I don't even know how long. Packs I've never heard of recognize it as ours, though, and Grandmother's always said it was well established before she joined the pack."

Stiles blinked. Rolled onto his side facing Derek, one hand reaching down to catch Derek's before he could pull it away, the other tucking under his own head, eyes and interest both pointed and focused. "Yeah?"

Derek wanted to squirm away. Closed his eyes instead, got a better grip on Stiles' hip. "The spiral is-- For werewolves, the ones we know of anyway, it's symbol for revenge," he explained, feeling his way around the words carefully. "The triskele is a spiral of spirals, one feeding into each other. It's sort of-- It's a reminder that revenge isn't something that ends, just comes back around again, but it's also a warning."

He could _feel_ Stiles blink again, narrow his eyes thoughtfully. "What kind of warning?"

Derek opened his eyes but couldn't-- Looked out the window, over the cork board full of drawings and notes and scrap-paper spikysaur heartmarks (he'd rescued his schedule by adding a second cork board a while ago, but he still looked at the old one first, always), flicked over Stiles then up at the ceiling as he said, "Historically speaking we've--ended a few of those."

It didn't feel like he needed to explain _how_. Stiles' heart rate kicked up, unease sparking along the bond. "Oooookay. But, historic, right? Not--"

"We're more in the business of preventing them, these days," Derek assured him, and the unease tipped back to curiosity. "We--" he stopped to feel around for words in the pale, twisty mess in his head. (Even if he'd accidentally helped create it, he didn't have much to do with--) "Our truce with the Argents. It's--we're in a weird position, with hunters _and_ wolves. We get contacted--or the Argents do--when there's a pack or a group of hunters who need arbiters. Dad or Grandmother or one of the uncles go out to listen to why somebody thinks somebody else broke an agreement or the Code." 

Maria had sent Laura out once and only once. It had worked--it had just also verified that in case of sudden, non-wolf inflicted death, Laura was probably the next alpha. Those packs still weren't really talking to them. They were stable, though. Not in danger of drawing hunters in with their feuds again.

(Danielle, honestly, would probably get the same result, when their mother thought to try throwing her at a problem. Not because she had the makings of an alpha, just because she wasn't used to caring that much about anyone who wasn't pack.)

Edward would get pulled into it though, when he came home for good. Possibly Matt, when he grew up. The hunters definitely liked it better when they came with humans, but his mother wasn't crazy enough to send Vic, Cara, or _Niq_ out for diplomacy. It was bad enough that she had to send her brothers, sometimes.

He was yanked back to reality, to the present, with the impression of annoyance tapping at the bond. Looked over to find Stiles giving him a flat, unimpressed look. "Your family wanders around, settling disputes between packs and hunters, and nobody thought that was important to mention?"

"It's mostly between packs," Derek corrected, lifting his shoulder in a shrug. "And--how is it important? It doesn't happen that often."

Stiles hummed like he didn't quite agree with that, but left it alone. "Why doesn't your mom go?"

"She's the alpha," Derek explained, trying not to sound like Stiles was an idiot for not knowing this. (Failing, judging by the light punch to the ribs.) "Her going to another pack's territory would just make everybody tense and uncomfortable, even if she was invited. It's just-- It's not good."

Stiles huffed and turned his face into the pillow with a muffled " _God_ werewolves are weird."

(It wasn't until much later, after a round of tickling and some accidental swearing, that Stiles remembered to explain why he chose the triskele. How cycles within cycles made sense to him. How it related to how his head worked, and life worked, and how nothing ever really having an end was soothing for him. It felt right. Felt like Stiles.)

\-----

Friday was a bit different. More of a cuddle-pile than normal, even for a full moon, but Derek didn't think any of them were able to just relax into it. 

Erin was fussy and fidgety all day, twisting around and growling softly in her father's arms whenever Niq couldn't take it anymore and went for a walk in the woods. (She'd been doing that a lot, and Derek--really wasn't sure what to make of that. She wasn't really the commune-with-nature type.)

With Erin acting up, there wasn't much for Tania to do but sit next to Paul and let Greg whimper his distress out. Trying to keep the babies apart just made them both louder.

Cara wasn't too bad. Shoved Vic, Derek, and Stiles into one of the couches and stretched out over their laps, her clawed hands tangled with Derek's and her shoulders contorted to keep her nose in the crease of Vic's hip without bringing her teeth into play. She was twitchy and tense, but didn't growl. Didn't need to sink her claws into Derek to keep herself from hurting one of the others.

Stiles didn't run with them (none of the humans did, not even Vic--not for Cara's first full moon and the hunt that came with it) but he was still there after, conked out on Derek's bed with Matt and Stacia and two cats sprawled out next to and on top of him. There was no room left for Derek, but by that point he didn't really care. Stretched out on the floor and let their scents wash over him as he gave in to the comforting pull of the dark.

He stuck around through breakfast, laughing with his eyes while Maria grumbled about not getting cinnamon rolls and the terrors made a game out of throwing bacon down the table to see who would snatch it out of the air. (Normally they'd get scolded for that, but apparently Derek wasn't the only one too tired to see it as anything other than convenient.)

(Even with one arm full of baby, Paul caught most of the bacon. He passed it all to Niq and just ate off her plate instead of bothering with his own. Niq--didn't seem to notice anything outside her coffee cup and the pile of eggs she was picking at. So that worked out.)

Stiles stayed through lunch, building space-castles with Gwen and helping Stacia with her hammer technique (which mostly boiled down to not throwing it where she couldn't see, or flailing too wildly behind her head--it was still helpful). Didn't ask where Vic and Cara were, or why both of Derek's parents were never around at the same time. Didn't ask why people kept disappearing downstairs, not showing up for hours. Until someone else went down.

Didn't ask about any of it. Not even when the pack bonds shifted and tugged at him, finally. Just reached out for his hand and squeezed, waited until he looked up.

"Can I come with, or is this a wolves only thing?"

It wasn't. Stiles knew it wasn't. He'd seen Niq go down with Paul, no different than when Peter and Tania left for their turn. "You can if you want. It's-- She's not--"

Stiles snorted and pushed himself up with an eye roll. "Dude, she feels like that rabbit from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, only stoned. She's not herself, I get it. But she needs us, right?"

He didn't _need_ to ask, and it made something bloom in his chest, a warm, green-ish joy stretching out and wrapping through his ribs. "Yeah. It's-- It's pack." Stiles offered him a hand up and he took it. Didn't need it, just wanted to touch, which Stiles knew, judging by the quirk at the edge of his mouth. "She needs to know we're here. That she's not alone. But she's got, just--" Derek huffed, scrabbling after the right words. "Tania said it was overwhelming, to have all of us around right away. She wanted us there, but kind of wanted to rip us apart, too."

"So the turn taking," Stiles nodded, a little wide eyed and alarmed but still not faltering as he took the steps down into the basement. "Good plan."

He hadn't seen Cara since she'd broken his leg during the run, trying to get past him, past the protective circle the family had made for her. Nodded to his mother as she passed them in the hall, muttering about being late, then to his father, settled just inside the door where Cara was.

She looked--fine. Still shifted, eyes glassy and grating out a constant subvocal growl, but--calm. Stretched out on one of the mattresses with her head in Vic's lap, fingers curled inward and careful of claws so she could keep her hands pressed against one of Vic's feet.

Danielle was still there, holding Cara's feet and carefully pulling bloody debris out, setting them aside in a paper towel.

"I'm not leaving yet," Danielle muttered, stubborn as their mother. "Not until I'm done. She wouldn't let anybody else help with this."

"I don't care," Derek offered with a shrug, tugging Stiles inside and flopping down on the other side of the door, pulling Stiles down into his lap. (There was a flail, but it wasn't objection, just surprise. And maybe a little bit not knowing what gravity was doing.) "You can stay if she wants you here."

David laughed, low in his throat and amused, but Cara just slumped a bit more. Pressed her fangs carefully into Vic's thigh as Vic ran a hand through her hair.

She'd be fine. She just needed to calm down, and she'd be fine.

\-----

Dani didn't stay past finishing up with Cara's feet. Just took the bloody towel with her and vanished as soon as she had the last bit. Walked it down to the washroom and back, throwing a washcloth at Derek's head before skipping up the stairs.

As much as he wanted to argue that washing his boss' feet wasn't part of his job description, it needed to be done. Stiles laughed when he was pushed onto the floor. Laughed harder when it turned out Cara was horribly, painfully ticklish and kept skipping between indignant snarling and shrieking laughter.

His life.

\-----

By the time Laura relieved them for bonding-time, it was nearly time for dinner. Derek poked his head into the kitchen to see if he was needed, but things seemed to be in full swing already. Peter and Edward were piling platters up with everything they'd need for a sandwich night (and playing a slow-motion game of keep-away, with Peter putting the cheap yellow mustard back in the fridge and Edward pulling it back out).

The terrors were at the kitchen table, filling out worksheets if the tongue-biting Gwen was doing was any indication. (Really, they were spending most of their time watching Edward and Peter play with the mustard and laughing--which was probably the point to begin with.) Tania was there too, with Greg in a high chair at her right and Erin tucked up against her chest in a sling, but mostly focused on a book in front of her. 

It was weird. The book looked new, but smelled old. Heavy-old, like it'd been abandoned somewhere for years, until the smell of stale and dust had sunk in strongly enough to stand out even in a bright, crowded environment. 

It also smelled like Stilinski, stale and old but identifiable because of that. 

He wasn't needed, though, and Tania was so engrossed in what she was reading she didn't even notice him watching. So he left.

Stiles was admiring Matt's egg-geode-things when he made his way back out to the main room. "This is totally not fair. I never got to do anything this cool when I was your age," Stiles gushed, grinning when Matt just looked smug about his good fortune. "How're you getting them back to school?"

Figuring that out took up the rest of the time until dinner and by then John was there, raising judgmental eyebrows at the spread. "I don't think I'm ever going to get over what you people think counts as an easy meal."

Derek and Laura shared a confused blink over their plates, because really? It was just sandwiches.

(--okay, so maybe 'sandwiches' for most families didn't involve enough lettuce to make salads out of, or quite so many toppings. But whatever. Peter's almond-pesto spread was fantastic, and it was just a _rule_ that there be sauerkraut if pastrami or corned beef were available. Maybe it was the hummus, or the sprouts, or-- Whatever. It was good. That's what mattered.)

Stiles left when his dad did. Laughed when Derek grumbled a protest into his neck before letting him go. "I'll be back tomorrow, dude. Sunday, remember?"

He did remember. Didn't mean it wasn't awful to feel Stiles leaving. To feel the bond stretching out into nothing, with distance.

It made him want to howl. He went to bed instead.

Gave up after an hour and went down to the basement to curl up with Vic and Cara and his mother.

He didn't really sleep, but he rested. Felt rested. It was enough.

\-----

Derek suggested they head out of town for date-day, and Stiles said he knew just the place. Drove them out to one of the beaches that was more rock than anything and picked their way over unsteady rocks and logs, looking for interesting things that might've washed ashore and gotten stuck.

There wasn't anything more interesting than Stiles in his new coat, hands out-flung for balance and laughing, the tip of his nose gone red with the cold.

(Derek was _not_ prepared for the beach, and even less prepared for a rocky beach on a windy day. His boots made navigating the rocks more precarious than he'd have liked. On the plus side, Stiles dug his old hoodie out of the back of the Jeep for him to wear, and Derek couldn't imagine anything better.)

"Mom and I used to do this," Stiles admitted once they were back in the Jeep and driving to the sleepy little stretch of tourist shops and necessity peddlers that lined the nearest chunk of highway. "She loved the water, but didn't really like _people_ all that much. Not ones she didn't know, anyway. So we'd come to places like this, where it wasn't so easy to sunbathe or play beach games. She'd pack us a lunch in a little cooler and we'd find a rock to eat on, then go exploring the tide pools and look for hidden treasure."

"Ever find anything?"

"Found an earring she'd lost, once," Stiles laughed, and--it was good. There was a hole in his life and it hurt, but--it felt like it made him feel better to talk about it too, sometimes. "Lots of beer bottles and soda cans. A few pretty shells, and a crab that wasn't as dead as I'd thought it was. Dad might still have the photos of that and oh my god, why did I just tell you that?"

Derek didn't know, but he was definitely going to ask John about it.

They had lunch and ice cream at a little sandwich shop. Bought a few pounds of taffy from the candy store Stiles dragged Derek into.

He had no complaints.

\-----

They spent most of New Year's Eve at Tinge after Derek finally remembered to talk to Vic about his tattoo. Stiles stole Derek's wheely stool, since Vic booted him off of hers so _she_ could use it, and settled in by Derek's shoulder, knee so close Derek could feel him in the air between them, even with his eyes closed.

Stiles had promised Scott he'd go to some New Year's party someone at the high school (and he really, really didn't need that reminder) was throwing, so he couldn't stay all night. 

But he stayed until he really actually had to go. Swooped down for a long kiss before he left.

Vic ribbed Derek the entire ride home, once they were finally done, but he didn't really care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tattoo Artist of the Week:** [Philip Milic](http://www.pmtattoos.com/) of [Old Crow Tattoos](http://oldcrowtattoo.com/) in Oakland California. (And apparently sometimes traveling. There's a mention of London on his website.) 
> 
> Recipe: Peter's almond-pesto spread is a less lemony variation on [this delightful recipe](http://www.fromthelittleyellowkitchen.com/2011/10/02/lemon-almond-pesto-spread/). For those curious.
> 
> I was able to get an update this week after all! And there will hopefully be an update next week also. That chapter is already started and has good progress made in it.
> 
> I'll try to get to answering comments individually, but as a reminder this story is starting the process of winding down to conclusion. I won't be able to finish by August, as I'd originally hoped, but we are still getting quite close. So be forewarned.


	76. I regret so much in my life

Knocking woke him up on the 2nd (well, made him pull his head out from under his pillow and squint, because he'd forgotten to close his curtains the night before--he wasn't really classifiable as 'awake'). When he grunted an acknowledgement, Cara pushed the door open a bit more and stuck her head in. "Uh, hey. Aren't you on opening today?"

It took two blinks and about four beats of his heart before that really sank in. Made him look at his clock and--shit. He only had half an hour until the doors were supposed to be unlocked.

(Fortunately Danielle was easy to sweet talk into driving him to work. Assuming 'sweet talk' meant headlocks, threats, and twenty bucks for bribery. He forgot his boots, and his iPod, and he was still wearing the triskele shirt he'd slept in, but he made it to Tinge before the first over-eager patron could come knocking.)

(He also forgot breakfast and couldn't run across the street to the coffee shop while he was alone with an angry phone. Had to make do with the snacks Cara and Tony stashed around their workstations. And no matter what they said, Clif bars were only barely edible and Cool Ranch Doritos were hardly worth calling food.)

\-----

The first day Tinge opened up after the holidays was scheduling hell. They all knew that. Knew it was going to be worse than normal, with Cara off the schedule until further notice.

Derek spent the first half hour clearing out the voicemail, then a few hours cleaning and organizing (or trying to) in short spurts around getting dragged back to the register by the phone, the door. (Half the time, the door wasn't even people coming in to make appointments. It was neighbors checking on Cara. _Again_.) 

Tony's week was booked as solidly as Derek dared by lunch time, and the next week wasn't doing that much better. He'd already had to text Vic a heads up that she'd want to check the book when she and Edward dropped by: covering Cara's touchups as well as her own appointments was filling up the schedule way, way faster than they'd expected. Derek mostly had consults, which he could at least do while technically manning the desk. (It wasn't all consults, though, and he was filling up too.)

"How's the nightmare going?" Tony called up as he stowed his stuff by the back door.

"It's a nightmare," Derek responded. "Vic said we can pull extra hours for the next couple weeks, if we want. Just mark in your availability." He'd already put himself down from opening to five every day. 

Except Sunday, because no.

Tony was grinning as he finally rounded the wall. "Score," he half-crowed, blinking and raising an eyebrow Derek's way as he slipped out from behind the counter to give Tony room.

(Still went for the bait of the scheduling book, though. Sucker.)

"You going somewhere?"

"Getting away from the phone," Derek offered with a smirk, just as it started ringing again. "I'm grabbing some sandwiches. Want one?"

Tony rolled his eyes but nodded, shooing him out the door. His attempted-cheerful "Tinge Tattoo Parlor, Tony speaking, how can I help you?" followed Derek out. 

So did the muffled curse (finally actually _looked_ at the schedule, then) and immediate assurances that he hadn't said anything.

Too bad Tony didn't know about werewolves. Derek couldn't tease him about things he shouldn't have heard in the first place.

Finally getting away from the phone apparently made him a little crazy. He took the extra time to swing by a cash machine, then over to Howe You Like It to order five sandwiches to go and one of their pre-made specials on a plate to scarf down while he waited for the rest. (Horrible name or not, they really _did_ make great sandwiches. And energy bars were _not_ the breakfast of champions, no matter what Tony claimed every time Derek made faces.)

Stiles was at Tinge by the time he got back, on the phone and pointing at the schedule where it was still lying open in front of Tony, both of them grimacing at it. "No, I get that. I'm really sorry, just give me a-- Hold on a sec." He tapped a button on the phone and gave Derek a hopeful look. "Consult for you, only available after six thirty but--"

"Book it for Wednesday," Derek interrupted (Stiles would be busy with Alan that day anyway. Probably be too tired to do much after), letting the door slide off his shoulder and encouraging it to close faster with the bottom of his foot.

Tony snickered as Stiles went back to the customer, apologizing again and pinning down an exact time before shoving Tony out of his way to pencil it in. "Yeah, absolutely. Thanks so much, we'll see you then."

(At the back of his head, the warm spots that felt like Vic and Edward woke up and started to stretch.)

The phone landed back on its cradle and Stiles flung both hands out toward the book. "What the hell?"

"Making up for lost time," Tony offered with a shrug, pulling the book back so he could keep marking out extra availability.

"Basically," Derek sighed, setting the bag of food on the counter. "And we're down Cara. So why is Stiles handling the phone?"

The back door closed with a snick. Not that anybody else seemed to notice.

"Because I'm better at it than Tony," Stiles snorted, reaching for the bag curiously and pouting when Tony snatched it away from him. "Even if I don't get how your freaky schedule works."

"Sure you do," Tony said, rummaging through the bag until he found his (unmistakable, even by feel. Tony was the only person Derek knew who wanted extra lettuce and _nothing else_ on a ham and cheese sub--it made his sandwiches feel like burritos from the taco truck that parked nearby sometimes), passing the rest on for Stiles to cheerfully rifle through (though it looked more like he just grabbed whatever was on top and started peeling the paper away). "It's just like our normal schedule, with added panic and crying."

"Sounds like something my sister's involved in," Edward snarked, ducking forward through the gate just fast enough to dodge the swat Vic followed him with. "Hey."

The phone rang again, and Stiles got to it before Derek could. Swallowing the bite he'd already snagged of--that was the sandwich Derek had gotten for Vic, but whatever. Tony was the only picky one-- "Tinge Tattoo Parlor, how can I help you?"

Tony and Edward were hugging, so Vic turned her despairing look to Derek. "He does know he doesn't actually work here, right? I'd need to get all sorts of permits for that."

"Your fault for encouraging him," Derek shot back with a shrug. "At least he isn't giving out his name?"

Vic groaned and rubbed her hands down over her face. "I regret so much in my life."

Tony finally let go of Edward and sulked his way back to the phone, swapping places with Stiles under Vic's pointed stare. Which Derek had no problems with, because that left his cousin available for _him_ to hug.

Derek refrained from huffing (dammit, Stiles) Edward because Tony was _right there_ , but he wanted to.

"Oh my god, what happened to the schedule?" Vic demanded as she stopped noogieing Stiles hello from Cara and leaned over the counter to get a better view of the book. 

" _See?_ " Stiles demanded back, flailing his hands (and thus, his sandwich) toward the counter.

And the phone was ringing. Again. 

"Tinge Tattoo Parlor, Tony speaking, how can I help you?" Tony parroted. Derek took advantage of the distraction to push his face deeper into the curve of Edward's neck, trying to pull in as much of his scent as he could.

Because Edward was leaving. It was going to have to last.

Hugs never lasted long enough when there was food available, though. Edward twisted away while Tony was still on the phone to investigate the sandwiches. Glared when Derek snatched it out of his hand, but whatever. One of those sandwiches was bought with Stiles in mind, which meant it was covered in mustard, and ew.

Derek got his own sandwich out and offered Edward the last two, flipped around so the scrawled description was facing the right way to be read (as much as they could be, anyway).

Edward gave Vic his sandwich, slid it around her elbow to rest against the inside of her forearm while she frowned down at the next couple of weeks, absentmindedly chewing on a pencil. Derek raised an eyebrow at him as he unwrapped the mustard and tomato filled atrocity, but Edward just shrugged. "You guys keep forgetting that I _like_ mustard now."

"Didn't used to," Derek grumbled, and Edward rolled his eyes.

"Oh-kay," Vic said, snapping the book shut. "Now I remember why Cara always insisted on taking the desk for the first couple days of the year. You guys _do_ remember that you can and should encourage people to schedule a few weeks out, right? We do not _have_ to fit everybody in this month. They are not going to _die_ if they have to wait."

Some of them acted like they would. A lot of them, actually.

"I hate saying no to people," Tony shrugged, pressing his sandwich down so he'd actually be able to fit the next bite into his mouth. "And I like working."

Vic rolled her eyes and clutched the scheduling book against her chest. "Yes. But we're all going to _collapse_ if you don't start aggressively booking out." She huffed a sigh up into her bangs. "I'm gonna need a few hours to fix this. Jesus."

The phone rang.

"Do I need to call a cab?" Edward asked, voice soft over Tony's ritual greeting. 

Vic grimaced, dilemma stretching her mouth out and souring the bonds before Stiles snorted. "By 'cab', you mean me, right?"

Edward laughed, and Vic leaned over to thump her head against Stiles' shoulder. "Would you mind?"

"Yeah, obviously," Stiles snarked, scuffling Vic's hair to make her sit up and glower at him. (It's not like it stuck. Her hair was too short in the back for anything Stiles did to make any difference.) "I totally mind. That's why I offered." He heaved a theatrical sigh, wrapping up the last couple bites of his sandwich. "C'mon, Edward. You can eat in the car. The Jeep has seen far, far worse. Trust me."

"I don't need to know that much about my cousin," Vic drawled and reached over for the message and call back number Tony had taken. Ignored the way Stiles went red and open mouthed and speechless. ( _How_ , Derek didn't know. He couldn't pull his eyes away.) "But you probably should get going. Eddie just _loves_ getting pulled for extra security checks."

Edward huffed irritably but slid off his stool and hugged Derek again. "I keep telling you, that's _not_ my fault."

Derek pressed his face into Edward's shoulder and reminded himself he was going to have to let go.

(He wanted to go with. Blow off the parlor for a few hours, since Vic would be there to handle the phones anyway. But Edward had a strict no-wolves-at-the-airport rule, and he didn't think it was going to suddenly disappear for his convenience.)

(Still wanted to.)

\-----

It was hardly the first time Maria called everyone (or almost everyone) together to talk about Gwen. That wasn't weird, in and of itself.

It _was_ weird that Gwen was actually there, curled up in her mom's lap and trying not to fidget. The other terrors were perched on Tania's feet, instead of with their respective families. (Although, that was really to be expected. Especially when Jacob's mom was being _alpha_ , not mother. There wasn't really much of a distinction there, but Jacob wasn't old enough to get all the nuances.)

"We're going to try something a little different," Maria started, hands folding up between her knees, loose and relaxed. "We want Gwen to join the others at school next fall, so we're setting up a schedule to help with that transition."

Gwen lit up, mouth dropping open to show fangs and that--that was exactly why they hadn't been able to let her out without supervision, yet.

(But-- If whatever his mother was planning worked, it'd be worth it.)

The new schedule wasn't that extreme, or all that different from what they were doing already. Gwen would get up with the others and do everything they did, and go for a run while Stacia and Jacob were driven to school. Her lunch would get made at the same time, her lessons would start at the same time (broken down into little chunks, which was new and--worrisome. Could she actually learn much, spending that little time on a subject?) and she'd have lunch and 'recess' breaks at about the same time the others did. 

Really, all the adjusting that needed doing was on the adults' end (and his, when his schedule stopped being insane). They were just going to have to be a lot more specific about timing. There was a rumble under his mother's voice that suggested that letting the schedule slide much was--not really an option.

Gwen seemed excited, though. And it was good to have a plan.

He hoped it worked. Wasn't sure they could take another round of Gwen throwing fits all through September.

\-----

With Edward gone, it wasn't exactly a surprise that Derek, Laura, and Matt all piled into Danielle's bed that night. It was more of a surprise that they all figured out how to _fit_ , honestly.

"Oh my god, I'm not leaving until Friday," Dani grumbled from the bottom of the pile, kicking idly at Derek's shoulder.

She didn't really mean it, though. Not by the bond, or the way she was clinging to Laura's sleep shirt like they were all going to vanish.

It wasn't a great night, but he slept. A bit.

\-----

Vic's phoenix with the ink allergy came back for some lines that needed cleaning up and probably to start talking about his next piece. Laughed when he saw Stiles behind the counter and leaned over like he was going to ruffle Stiles' hair. "You're still here? Have anything yet?"

Stiles ducked out of the way, making a face, eyes darting to Derek (at the counter, stuck staring at a woman's chest while they discussed cover up options for a name she didn't want anymore) like a reflex. "Not a tattoo. Not yet."

"Not until April!" Vic called out cheerfully from the back, over the buzz of her machine. "No job until then either!"

Phoenix laughed as Stiles rolled his eyes and reached for the phone when it started ringing, nodding toward a bench. "The Wicked Witch will be with you shortly," he offered, before smiling into the receiver. "Tinge Tattoo--"

A snort pulled his attention back to the young woman across from him, the amused slant to her eyebrows, her hands where she was still holding the collar of her shirt to one side so he could see the full name. "Uh, sorry."

"No problem. So. What do you think?"

"It's possible. Was there anything in particular you had in mind?"

She wanted to grow. He could definitely turn 'William' into a garden. The font she'd chosen for him was well suited to it. 

\-----

Cara was (metaphorically, thankfully) clawing the walls. They'd stopped rotating through the basement and started rotating through the forest, the humans walking with her, the wolves running. 

Derek showed her how to sniff out the patrol routes. How to tell how long it had been since each branch had been travelled, and by who. She could already pick out family from not-family, and he didn't think the nuances of the familiar would take much longer.

It gave her something to do, at least, when she couldn't sleep. (Let her know how they protected themselves. Understand that she could help. Could guard. Could defend. He figured she needed that.)

(It helped him, anyway.)

\-----

Friday was appropriately dreary. As soon as he opened his eyes, he could tell that the sky was overcast. The clouds would have that faint yellow tint that made them look heavy and thick. The air, when he left the room, was probably going to be just humid enough to feel it on his tongue.

He felt like the clouds, heavy and thick and sluggish, but his alarm was still going off and eventually Laura growled and shoved his hip toward the edge of Danielle's bed with her foot. "F'fuzake. Uff."

Easier said than done. Even in her sleep, Danielle had a death-grip on one of his ankles. (Matt hadn't joined them that night, at least, otherwise he'd probably have a dead weight sprawled over his back too.)

He got himself free, though. Slipped out of Danielle's room and back to his own to turn his alarm off. Stood there for a minute before he could make himself dig out clothes for the day (the shirt Stiles had worn at the last full moon, smelling like Stiles and family and _home_ ).

Made himself get dressed. Prep his bag for the day. Brush his hair. (Contemplate and discard shaving--he wasn't up to it.) Made himself go downstairs, pull together something simple and filling for breakfast, and leave the house before he could change his mind.

He'd said his goodbyes the night before. It was fine.

The day dragged on, flat and miserable whenever he didn't have a gun buzzing in his hand. A job to do and something special (to someone, at least) taking shape beneath his fingers. 

Having Stiles around helped. A warm, babbling presence at his side when he manned the desk, and someone to talk to his clients for him when they didn't mind the extra company.

Vic shoo'ed them out half an hour before he was actually scheduled to leave. Said he was depressing the customers and needed to go home. 

Needed his pack, she meant. Needed their scents and their touch to remind him he wasn't alone. But he _knew_ that. It wasn't helping. And home was--

He wasn't sure he could stand smelling Danielle when she wasn't there. Not that clearly, like he'd just missed her by a couple of hours. Wasn't sure he could handle going back to a house that still smelled like she might still be there. Might come back.

Stiles drove them home. _His_ home. Didn't even ask about it, or need Derek to say anything. Just led him inside, shoved him down on the couch, and dropped a blanket on his head.

"Stay there. I'll just be a minute."

It was closer to ten minutes, but when Stiles came back to the living room he had four gently steaming mugs and everything smelled like chocolate and warm milk and chicken.

Stiles left the soup and hot chocolate on the coffee table and went to put in a movie before burrowing under the blanket with Derek. Handed him a mug (cocoa first, apparently) and clicked through the menu to--

"How many movies are on this disc?"

Stiles barked a laugh and shrugged, selecting the third one in and settling more firmly against his side. "Dunno. Can't remember. I think the playtime's something like eighteen hours, though."

It was an old movie, oddly toned and weirdly cut. And it was so, so weird to watch dubbing that didn't even _try_ to sync up with what the people on screen were doing. Or the plot, sometimes. It barely made sense, but Derek couldn't pull his eyes away. Didn't switch mugs until Stiles snorted and traded them out _for_ him.

He remembered Stiles starting the next movie. Remembered setting his mug back on the table and pulling Stiles practically into his lap as soon as he had both hands free.

Then he was waking up as John leaned over to tug the remote out of Stiles' hand. Stiles, who was snoring into his neck and completely dead to the world. Under a blanket.

Derek had half a second of panic to hope there was an ankle sticking out somewhere to show they were still dressed, but-- John just turned away and clicked the screen off. Walked over to eject the DVD and put it back in its case.

Looked back at Derek and sighed, shaking his head, before heading upstairs.

Derek tried wiggling his toes and--no. That was definitely blanket, and those were definitely Stiles' feet clamping around one of his with a sleepy grumble.

That was a nightmare. And if it was a nightmare, he was still asleep.

It made enough sense to let him close his eyes again. Let the world fade away into soft charcoal and flashes of green and orange and laughter so bright it couldn't be seen.

\-----

Vic brought him a change of clothes on Saturday, so she was his favorite for a moment.

At least until he realized she'd brought him one of the Stiles-smells-like-sex shirts, and laughed at the expression on his face.

\-----

"You don't have to say yes."

Derek paused halfway into the Jeep, left foot already up in the footwell and shoulders angled in. "Okay. That's ominous."

Stiles rolled his eyes and impatiently waved Derek the rest of the way in. "I just-- Date night's supposed to be just us, but Scott and Allison are going bowling, 'cause Allison's apparently super into that? I don't get it, but the point is that they invited us along. But I know that might be weird, so--"

"Bowling's fine," Derek answered, because he was still trying to process the rest.

"And--Allison is fine?"

He could still remember her in his family's kitchen, smelling like lightning and reducing herbs for a thick vinaigrette. French rolling off her tongue and her startled, bashful pleasure when Peter tried to coax her into working for him. The way she'd grimaced and grabbed after her words and stubborned her way through awkwardness. "Yeah. I like Allison."

And it was fine. His first glance of Allison is at the bowling alley was just like the first time he'd met her: laughing as she braced Scott up, this time as he tried to re-tie one of his rented shoes while standing. Stiles snorted loud enough to bring her head up, and the smile on her face was--relief.

It was fine. It was just Allison. Allison, who liked to mix grape soda with lemonade, had the same alarming accuracy with a bowling ball that she did with dinner rolls, and probably actually liked bowling so much because the bowling alley was the only place in Beacon Hills that served fried pickles.

Which she introduced Stiles to, because she was horrible.

(Scott was not-quite-terrible at bowling. Stiles was--better. Barely. Derek was adequate. Playing couples, they were hilariously well matched.)

\-----

School started on the 7th, which Derek probably wouldn't have noticed the year before (Well, no. Danielle smelling of high school and irritation was hard to miss), and wouldn't have cared if he had.

This year it meant less Stiles, but mostly it meant that he and Tony had to go back to actually answering the phone themselves and remembering to check the messages.

The door hadn't quite closed on Tony's latest consult (something about birch bark and owls and eyes and he didn't really want to know) when the phone went off. Again.

Derek had an appointment in ten minutes, so he was allowed to take the long step back that let Tony reach for the phone.

"Tinge Tattoo Parlor, Tony speaking, how can I--yes. No. --okay, yeah, definitely no. Seriously, if you bring us a fake ID, we get to keep it. Uh-huh. Have a great day."

The phone clattered back into the charging stand as Tony groaned " _When_ is Cara coming back?"

"Still don't know," Derek didn't sing-song back, no matter how much the voices of his sisters and his mate in his head were insisting he should. "The trial's going really well? Vic says she's doing great, just--wobbly."

She was. Doing great, and still wobbly. She was healthy, stable, had good control so long as she could keep calm. But it was _Cara_. _Calm_ wasn't her thing--constant low grade _alarm_ was her thing. Constant worry, constant stress.

She wasn't quite at Gwen's level of ready to interact with the public for long periods of time so far, but she wasn't much worse either.

Still good, considering.

\-----

Stiles slumped into his usual stool on Friday, bag dropping to his feet and falling forward until his head thumped against the counter.

Biceps-parrot flinched to the side and stared, but Derek was too used to it to react (and it was hardly the worst that counter had seen). He handed the guy his credit card back and a copy of the aftercare instructions. "Vic went through this with you already, but here's a copy to take home. Just call or email if you have any questions. Take care."

Parrot left, and Stiles snorted against the counter. "You sound like a customer service robot. A _crappy_ customer service robot."

"My programming's outdated," Derek offered, and bumped their sketchbook against Stiles' head when he laughed. "C'mon. We've only got half an hour until I have an appointment."

"I'd celebrate things slowing down, but I know better." Stiles sighed, heaving himself upright. "I miss being a few weeks ahead on everything, by the way."

Derek did too. "You'll get there again."

He hoped.

\-----

Saturday was a mess of appointments and cranky clients and a sad text from Stiles that he was running late with Alan, then another saying he'd been blackmailed into a movie night with Scott, then--nothing.

He ran the borders with Cara all night. Showed her where some of the badgers slept and made her pick their route based on whatever branch of the patrols had the oldest scent.

Dumped Cara next to Vic, panting and too exhausted to be anything but shifted, about an hour before dawn. Ignored the middle finger Vic shot his way as she grumbled and wiggled closer to her mate.

The underside of his skin still itched, so he ran again. Ran until there was sidewalk under his feet and houses around him instead of trees. Ran until Stiles bloomed in his mind. Until Stiles was _there_ , squinting and grumpy but holding the door open before Derek even reached it.

\-----

He woke up--mostly--to Stiles squirming out from under his arm. Didn't open his eyes, just let his fingers close over fabric and grumbled when Stiles yelped: too loud and high pitched to be comfortable.

"Oh my god, Coppertone flashbacks," Stiles muttered, which--what? 

Before he could wake up enough to make sense of that, Stiles' hand was ruffling through his hair, almost as soft as his voice. "Hey, sleepy. I'll be right back. Just need to get some things."

Then warm fingers were closing over his and coaxing his hand loose, and he didn't really care. So long as Stiles wasn't leaving, he didn't care.

He drifted for a while; not quite dreaming, not quite awake. Sliding between Stiles muttering about metaphors and anecdotes and warped landscapes that were constantly falling apart until he lost track of everything entirely.

\-----

Derek blinking his eyes open to Stiles' room. To his head in Stiles' lap. To the open door over he could see past the bulge of Stiles' knee. To John, shaking his head as he backed out of the room, closing the door most of the way behind him.

He was probably dreaming. That would make sense.

Stiles snored, his fingers twitching in Derek's hair, and the world went black again.

(He hadn't been dreaming. John insisted he stay for dinner, then calmly explained the multiple ways that they were going about sleeping together behind his back _all wrong_. Not only by totally failing to hide it, but also in that most people wouldn't actually be _sleeping_. Derek thought he might be a fair match for Stiles' coat by the time he was halfway through it. Had no idea about Stiles. Couldn't stand the thought of looking up to check.)

\-----

"I think it's a conspiracy," Stiles muttered, voice too faint and too far away. "There's no way this amount of work is normal."

"Funny. I seem to remember thinking the same thing when I was in school," Derek teased, stepping around a tree. (He was starting to develop new routes home. Ones that were better for walking, for slower paces, and had less need to duck.) "Around the beginning of every term."

"Hah hah," Stiles grumbled, chair squeaking and Derek could almost see him. That was the left turning squeak, so Stiles was turning to look back at the bed. Phone probably cradled on his left shoulder while he fiddled with something (pencil, maybe? Maybe a marker) and-- "I have good news, though." The image shattered with his voice, still too distant. "I'm caught up enough that I had a chance to get a few days ahead in math. So I shouldn't be this overloaded for much longer."

Derek snorted. Pushed an overhanging branch out of the way. (It was mostly leaves, not heavy enough to bother with ducking.) "You'd probably feel less stressed about everything if you didn't think that being a few days ahead in something was the bare minimum of normal."

"Can't help it, I'm a worrier," Stiles said, shirt scuffing and pulling against the seat of the chair as he shrugged. "At least I have you and Tinge and magic to focus on now, too. I think more than anything, Dad's just thrilled I'm too busy to get into trouble."

"Was that a common problem for you?"

The laugh he got for that was _amazing_ ; bright and open and bursting in his head with oranges and purples. "Oh, man. You have _no_ idea. I am the _worst_ when I'm bored."

He'd believe it.

\-----

Vic let some of the customers who were waiting on Cara come in. Talked with them, took photos, sketched out bare bones ideas to get placement and size down. Made copies of it all to take home to Cara.

Cara ripped through the first few pages, too excited to keep her claws in check, but--well. That's why Vic made the copies in the first place.

The main room started smelling like graphite, glycerin, and gum arabic. Papers and sketchbooks started coming out again. The tiny brushes Cara preferred for her watercolors and her weird, backward way of designing.

It was such a relief, though. Watching fully human fingers close around a tiny stick and guide it over paper, splashing out color and shape into an impression of what she was working on. Seeing her stay human as she curled up against Vic, waiting for her paint to dry enough to go over it with markers. Draw in the lines that were missing.

She'd passed Gwen, in terms of being ready to rejoin the world. (And if it was only barely, that was because of _Gwen_ not Cara. Gwen who'd earned _two_ trips to the park already, by the reward schedule Tania and Peter had set up for all the kids.)

\-----

"Full moon's in ten days," Stiles remarked idly.

Derek paused and took a moment to check his surroundings, just in case, because he could have _sworn_ they'd just been talking about his history class. But, no. Same section of the forest he remembered walking into. "Uh. Yes?"

"It's Thursday." And that same calm, dry tone. "Three days from now is Sunday."

"I don't get where you're going with this."

Stiles sighed, but there was a hint of a laugh under it. "Dude. The full moon's a week from Sunday. So the full moon is on--?"

Sunday. He'd been too busy to think about it much beyond being glad it was falling on a day he had off. Forgot that the only days he was taking off until Cara got back were date nights.

"Damnit," he muttered, slowing to a stop and glaring at a tree. (It wasn't the tree's fault, but he needed to glare at _something_.)

"I guess it had to happen sometime," Stiles said, chair squeaking and fabric scuffing like he was shrugging and twisting around, side to side. "But it's still not really convincing me there's no conspiracy afoot."

"Did you seriously just say 'afoot'?"

"That's what you're focusing on," Stiles drawled, snorting. "Whatever. It's a totally appropriate use of the term, jerk. "Anyway. Much as it pains me, I think it might be a good thing. I mean, lately we've just been napping on each other anyway. Now we'll just be doing it with your family around, _and_ I'll probably get a load of work done."

There was that. "With the progress Cara is making, Mom thinks she can come in to work for a few hours a day, soon. I think they're talking scheduling for that today."

"Finally," Stiles huffed. "I thought the plan was that she'd be back, like, last week."

It was. But even if she wasn't violent, it had taken so long for her to just _calm down_ enough that they could get her anchored. "Yeah. But nothing we can do about that now. Still--"

"So we're looking at, what, being able to start actually hanging out normally again in--February?"

Pretty much. But that--didn't sound entirely acceptable. To Stiles either, by the tone of his voice. "No. We've got this Sunday too."

Stiles laughed, but didn't sound particularly amused. "Think we're going to do anything other than sleep?"

"Yes."

He'd make sure of it. _Plan_ something.

They needed it.

"Okay," Stiles agreed, voice soft and--grateful, almost. "It's a date."

The words made his heart tick up a beat, even if that didn't make any sense. "It's a date."

Now he just had to figure out what the date _was_. Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No links this week, except to a kickstarter with just a couple days left. [Alphabet of Embers](https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/stonebirdpress/an-alphabet-of-embers) is "An anthology of unclassifiables – lyrical, surreal, magical, experimental pieces that straddle the border between poetry and prose" by the founder and co-editor of [Stone Telling](http://stonetelling.com/), and it is fully funded.
> 
> So why should you care? More info [here](http://billtheradish.tumblr.com/post/93775714972/an-alphabet-of-embers).
> 
> In more typical story-related end notes... This is a great example of me producing just enough text to make a chapter out of, and the enigmatic roommate making sad eyes at me until it was freaking huge. *falls over* I did have most of a chapter ready to go last Monday, and I was done writing by Wednesday. I thought I'd be able to work ahead for a chapter for next week, but then the edits started coming in.
> 
> I had the option to cut this chapter in half to ensure a chapter for next week two, but decided against it. So we're in that nebulous 'might be the 11th, might not be until the 18th' stage of updating again, but I'm a little more hopeful this week that I can get something out for next Monday. If I can't get a chapter written, I'll mention it on tumblr on Sunday.


	77. His priorities were probably messed up

The next afternoon (the first mutual gap in their schedules, maybe Vic had a point), Derek slid onto the Consulting Client stool across from Tony. Carefully did not stare at Tony, who was working on intensely delicate lines for the scales and wrinkles around an iguana's eye, but eventually Tony flicked his pencil Derek's way and said "Yeeees?" in the tone that meant he might just be a troll and laugh in Derek's face. 

(Laura used that tone a lot. Whatever.) "I need your help with something."

"I'm not designing that earthworm piece," Tony huffed, smudging a line carefully with the back edge of his pencil. "He booked it with you."

He couldn't help it, Derek could _feel_ his nose crinkling up. "He made a mistake," he insisted, but Tony just shrugged, one corner of his mouth quirking up in a smirk. "But whatever. That's not what I was going to ask."

That got Tony's attention finally, pencil lifted away from the paper and everything. "Make it fast, then. You've got an appointment in, what, half an hour?"

"Yeah." Grumpy Bat, who'd been smart enough to book before the holidays. "I have a date with Stiles on Sunday."

Tony flipped the pencil around so the back end was almost poking Derek's forehead. "You have a date with Stiles _every_ Sunday. Because you two are just too freakin' adorable."

"Shut up," Derek muttered, pushing the pencil away. "We don't really _do_ much on our dates. We used to go somewhere and eat and draw together, most of the time. Lately we've just been sleeping. _Actual_ sleeping," he clarified when Tony's eyebrows rocketed up toward his hairline. "We went to the beach once, which was his idea, and on a bowling double date with some of his friends."

"Also his idea," Tony nodded, setting his pencil aside entirely. "So you want to do something special."

"I kind of said we were going to."

Tony laughed. Jerk. "And now you're panicking. Okay, well. I don't really date, Derek. You know that."

"My next option is Laura."

That got him an acknowledging nod. "Valid point," Tony admitted, and Derek still hated Tony's not-scents, because he didn't know what that _meant_.

(Technically, he could ask Tania for help. Or his parents. They probably wouldn't make too much fun of him. But-- The idea felt-- _weird_. Staticky and sticky and uncomfortable.)

"Okay," Tony said, distracting Derek back to him, "so, here's a thought," he leaned forward on his elbows, steepling his hands in front of him. (Derek was never admitting that Tony looked like a Bond villain when he did that.) "You're setting this up for Stiles, right?" Derek didn't bother answering, just narrowed his eyes as Tony smirked. "So you're giving Stiles a present. What kind of present do you want to get him?"

That was-- Huh.

"You're welcome," Tony beamed, picking up his pencil again. "Now go prep your chair. You know Batty's probably going to start stripping as soon as she hits the door."

Which--was _probably_ not true, but.

He went to prep his area.

(She totally did.)

\-----

There were a lot of things he could have done, from small and silly to big and stupid (or big and meaningful--he was having trouble telling the difference). He turned them over in his head on his run home, through dinner, when he was staring up at the ceiling instead of sleeping. When it came right down to it, though, what Derek really wanted to give Stiles was a _break_.

(For that week, at least. Maybe-- Maybe later he could do something big and ridiculous. He thought Stiles might like that.)

\-----

_Get up. Dress warm. Be there in 30_

He grabbed a quick breakfast, mostly off Laura's plate (her fault for making a sandwich and leaving it unattended--house rule), grinned at Stiles' _Ugh HATE_ reply, then took off into the woods.

He could get most of the way to Stiles' unseen, if he went the long way. Wouldn't have to worry about running through town in his nice jeans.

Stiles met him at the door with a grumpy squint. (It completely failed to have the right effect on Derek. Sleepy-grumpy Stiles was _adorable_ , which only made him grumpier.)

"Is there a reason I need to be up before 10?"

Derek shrugged. "Probably not. Don't really have a schedule for today."

Stiles growled, human and more cute than threatening, then slumped his way back into the house. "Do you have breakfast in your plans, or should I make oatmeal?"

"We could pick something up on the way, if you want."

The grumpy-sleepy-sullen across the bond perked up with interest.

"--lemme get my jacket."

\-----

He made Stiles pull into a gas station. Wandered inside to get sodas and give the teller the twenty Stiles handed him for gas.

Gave the teller his personal debit card instead, before going for the drinks. Distracted Stiles by making lewd comments about his preference for Cherry Pepsi over regular.

Managed to get forty dollars into the tank before Stiles realized the pump should have cut off and turned around with a yelp.

The tank still wasn't full, but whatever. He'd probably have another chance.

Stiles wanted to know where they were going. Huffed adorably when Derek just grinned and pointed him toward a highway.

They left town again. Drove down to almost-Sacramento, and Stiles stared at him like he was deranged when he directed Stiles to park at a theater.

"You realize we have one of these back home, right?" 

It sounded like snark, but Stiles felt thoroughly baffled as he followed Derek up to check out their options. (It was too bad they weren't a week later. Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters was due out soon, according to the posters, and it looked like it might just be bad enough to be good.)

"We do," Derek admitted. "But there's an art store near here that I like, and a comic shop if you're interested, and a few restaurants that I know are good. And we probably aren't going to run into anyone from your school, or my family, or the sheriff's department."

Stiles blinked and looked over the board with all the times with a shrewder eye. "So--we're not looking for something to watch now."

Derek shrugged. "Or at all. I'm not invested in a movie, I just wanted to spend time with you."

They decided against a movie. Stiles had already seen everything he wanted to, and Derek wasn't all that interested in being trapped in an enclosed space for an extended period. (Ugh. High school. Employees and patrons both, and even with the lobby doors closed, even over the popcorn 'butter', he could smell the hormones.)

Ended up in a coffee shop for an hour or so, arguing with their pencils on an only sort-of comfortable couch. (The spikysaur vs The Venti Cup was definitely not going on the cork board in Derek's room. Nope.)

They had lunch in a trying-too-hard retro diner, and wound up talking ink with their waiter when Stiles gushed over the thorny vines creeping down his forearms. Went to the comic shop after and Stiles found a girl in a Batwoman t-shirt (and now that Derek knew what to look for the symbol _was_ different) to geek out with while Derek spent some time studying the posters that wallpapered the place (mostly reproductions of vintage covers, but quite a few newer works trying to match that older style with--variable success. It was interesting).

On their way to the art store they both got distracted by a hole-in-the-wall gelato place that was new since the last time Derek had been through, and he was _definitely_ mated to someone whose tastebuds were just _wrong_. Why else would anyone get pistachio and mango in the same cup?

They made it to the art store eventually. Spent a good two hours talking supplies with each other and the girl (who was probably supposed to stay at the register) who drifted over eventually, discussing paper density and finish and the consistency of inks, paints, pencils, charcoals, and all the wonderful ways they all ran together. The girl adored pastels of all sorts, could quote the history of the medium down to the decade and had Opinions about watercolors. (Derek thought she was full of shit about everything except the colored pencils that could be thinned down into washes with water and a brush. That was neat, and he bought a full set for Cara.)

Stiles didn't let him buy everything he'd shown interest in, but they did leave with a starter set of oil sticks and a couple of canvas boards because no, Derek was _not_ ignoring something that made Stiles light up like firecrackers through the bond.

It was pretty much dinnertime by then, so they poked around at their options on Stiles' phone and wound up at a steakhouse Derek hadn't even known was there. Stiles only teased him a little bit for ordering his meat blue rare and substituting more salad for his potato. (Whatever. He was the one who insisted on buying a side of onion rings just because they came measured in units of _loaf_. He had no room to judge.)

It was dark out and Stiles was yawning by the time they left the restaurant. The bond was a contented rumble between them as they walked back towards the Jeep. Stiles paused a few feet away, frowning then sighing when Derek stopped to look back at him. 

Still managed to take Derek by surprise when he tossed him the keys. 

"Dude, I am _wiped_ ," Stiles complained, circling around to the passenger side. "Probably shouldn't be driving."

"I've been awake longer than you," Derek felt obliged to point out, but he got into the driver's seat anyway. Reached over to let Stiles in.

Stiles scoffed once the door was open and gave him a tired glare. "Yeah. And yet, you're all bushy tailed still. So deal with it."

"I don't have a tail," Derek retorted primly and started the engine. Grinned when Stiles laughed over the noise.

Stiles spent most of the trip home asleep, slumped against the window. Derek didn't feel alone, though. Just--content, and happy, and pleased.

It was good. He'd wanted to give Stiles a break, and it didn't get much more relaxing than a long nap.

Plus, it let him stop and fill up the tank on the way home.

(He thought about staying, when he pulled Stiles out of the Jeep. When he carried him upstairs, hysterically uncoordinated and still half asleep. When he helped Stiles out of his jacket, shoes, and jeans and watched as he curled himself up under the blankets with a pleased mumble. Didn't. Not because he couldn't, but because he needed to run. Needed to get rid of the energy that just kept building up under his skin, all day. Needed--something.)

(The run didn't banish the feeling, but it helped. It let him sleep.)

\-----

The problem with the extended by-appointment-only holiday schedule (and especially one that was, much as he liked him, mostly Tony due to family shenanigans) was that Derek couldn't spend the dead periods of the day to clean up after his walking disaster coworkers. (Cara was okay. Vic and Tony-- There was a _system_ , dammit. Inks and autoclaving trays and tracing paper and everything.)

But Monday rolled around and he finally felt sort of caught up. Vic and Tony hadn't trashed the place the day before, and he'd been working through the backlog whenever he had a spare moment. he got to spend most of his empty morning hour doodling. (Technically, he was working on commissions. These were just--nowhere near the versions he'd ever show his clients.)

The back door creaked open. Shut with ominous care. Some cloth carefully scuffed the floor and delicate, light footsteps slipped across the mats.

"Cara's going to be in today," Derek offered, before Tony could round the wall and try to scare him.

(Trying to pretend to be startled was _annoying_.)

Tony huffed a sigh and went back to his normal stride as he came into view. "I hate you, sometimes." He slumped against the far end of the register counter, leaning over and frowning. "Wait, is she working? She's not--"

"No," Derek hurried to correct. "She's just coming in with Vic for a few hours. She'll probably do some office stuff or catch the phone, but she's not-- I think she's just stir crazy, and they said she could try it out. See if she feels okay."

Just being able to draw again at home had helped _so much_. Derek couldn't help but think a few hours at work were just what she needed.

"Cool," Tony bobbed his head, straightening up again. "I'm gonna head across the street for a coffee and to tell the neighborhood gossip center about Cara. Want anything?"

Derek wished he didn't know any of the people he did, sometimes. "Mango tea latte. And a bagel."

He considered texting Vic to give her a heads up, but--

This would be more fun.

\-----

He had warning, could feel his cousins getting closer, but it was still a surprise when the back door flipped open and Cara's voice caroled out, "I'm heeere."

Mostly because Tony said "Excuse me," to the consult he was in discussion with before abandoning the guy at the counter, bounding noisily around the work benches to grab Cara up in a hug. Literally up. Her feet were a good seven inches off the floor and she was _shrieking_ with laughter as Tony spun her around.

Derek dropped his attention back to the piece he was working on with a muttered "Sorry," to his client. It was _hard_ to focus on yet-another-Superman-shield when Tony was less than twenty feet away, setting Cara back on her feet but not letting her go, burying his face in her hair and muttering something that made her laugh nervously and swat his shoulder.

Tony disappearing from the front was apparently all the coffee shop needed to figure out what was going on. The afternoon manager bustled in through their door with a black coffee and one of Cara's favorite white chocolate-coconut muffins before Cara made it out to the front. 

By the time Derek was done with the shield and talking the client through proper aftercare, the manager had been replaced with Cara's favorite blue-haired (currently) barista, and they were ensconced on the window seat, giggling like little kids.

That set the tone for the afternoon. Derek had a consultation for a surrealist city-scape, and the couple that ran the art gallery the next block down bustled in with cheek kisses, enthusiastic cooing, and a pendant one of the artists had made from recycled materials. By the time he was done, they'd been replaced by a few of the coffee shop regulars who just wouldn't stop commenting on the weight she'd lost, how _good_ she looked, how much more _healthy_ \-- (Vic hurried them out before Cara could start growling, at least. It had been coming, though. Derek could feel it, thrumming through the bonds. Just like he could feel the fact that his mother was hovering somewhere nearby.) (Probably gorging on burgers over at Floyd's, honestly. She was nearly as much of an addict as Niq was, if nowhere near Stiles' level.)

He was able to escape back into the back when the lady from the salon burst in, at least. Legitimately had an appointment to prep for, so he just had to listen as she bemoaned how fluffy Cara was, and how much root she was showing. That appointment kept him busy through another round of coffee shop regulars and staff (the staff were less annoying, he thought--mostly because they didn't have enough time to stick around and _be_ annoying). He had to switch out with Tony again around the time the bead store owner stopped by with a card. (Which was--awkward, for all the guy seemed nice, if probably a little stoned.)

It took another set of people after that who just wouldn't stop commenting about Cara's _weight_ (like that was _ever_ something she'd cared about) before his sense of her started feeling frayed and jagged. Before his sense of his mother perked up and started moving toward Tinge. She held it together well enough that none of the humans caught on, at least.

Aside from Tony, who kept giving Derek and Vic pointedly disappointed looks all day.

Crap.

\-----

It was already a topic of discussion when he got home, even though Vic wouldn't be off shift for a few more hours.

Cara grimaced up at him from where she was snuggled down into the corner of a couch, holding Maria's feet in her lap (because his mother). "So. Tony? How bad was it?"

Derek shrugged and walked over to slide in under his mother's head, when she curled up hopefully. "We were never really alone. I got the impression he doesn't buy the medical story anymore, though. Why?"

"He told Cara," Maria drawled, comfortable and amused and rather pointedly not worried about this development, "that our cover story is utter bullshit, but that he was glad she's feeling better."

Well. That probably wasn't that much of a surprise. Everyone else had bought it alright, at least. "So are we telling Tony?"

"I'll wait until Vic's home to decide. I'm curious to see if he says anything else."

It'd be nice if they could tell Tony. He could start teasing him about how often he swore at the phone when there was no one else around.

His priorities were probably messed up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No tattoo artist again. I'm so sorry! If any of y'all want to suggest an artist for next week, please feel free! (Even if it's someone I've linked before, I'll do it again! Except David Hale, since I think he's had at least three now...)
> 
> Also, the Batwoman logo mention was a suggestion from the enigmatic roommate, and I loved the detail but then couldn't specifically identify a single design. If any DC fans out there want to give me some pointers there for a better option or verify if this is okay, I'd appreciate it.
> 
> Next Update: I am really, really going to try for next week, but since this week only barely happened, I'm not confident in promising anything. I'll have a post up on tumblr on Sunday if we're going to be set back a week again.


	78. It's always the hard way

They split apart, Cara to continue her quest to get the cats to like her again (she was winning--without even having to resort to bribery, which was more than most of the family could say), Maria to the kitchen to try and sneak a snack around Peter, and Derek-- Well, Derek stayed put on the couch. Worked on a commission or two while Matt and the terrors started to congregate to work on homework.

Then there was dinner, and Matt biting Laura for trying to steal one of his green beans, and Cara carefully wrapping up a plate for Vic.

When Vic finally pulled into the driveway, they wandered back to the couch. Wound up in almost exactly the same positions (Maria flipped around, because Cara was still a better pillow than Derek, and his mother knew she could trust Derek not to touch her feet whereas Cara--fidgeted).

Paul settled in one of the armchairs, Erin asleep against his shoulder, and didn't even pretend to be there for any reason other than waiting for the show to start.

Vic didn't quite swear at the cats as she came in. Detoured to the kitchen to pick up her dinner before seeking them out, and came into the living room peeling the stretch wrap on her plate halfway back, enough to get at the interesting bits. "So?" she prompted, before shoving most of a pork chop into her mouth.

"That's our line," Cara huffed, and tugged on Maria's hair when she snickered. "Did Tony say anything to you, after Derek left?"

"Nope," Vic confirmed, grinning when Maria groaned. "You're gonna have to do this the hard way."

"It's Tony," Cara groused, while her mate started prodding their alpha for room on the couch. "It's always the hard way."

Vic snorted, nodding agreement, and that was just-- "He's generally easy about scheduling," Derek protested.

"Yup," Cara agreed cheerfully. "When he's not hard, he's definitely easy."

Maria nearly fell off the couch laughing. Curled up enough that Vic was able to squeeze in between her and Cara, plate held aloft.

"That's-- That's really inappropriate," Maria finally managed to get out around the giggles. "As his boss, you should be ashamed of yourself."

"I am," Cara lied, placing a hand over her heart. "To the depths of my soul. I shouldn't say things like that about Tony where he can't hear them."

Vic nodded, pulling the bone from her pork chop out of her mouth to say, "He'd have liked that one."

His _family_. "Can we get back to what we're doing about Tony?"

"Two choices," his mother offered as she dug her heels into Derek's thigh and squirmed around on top of Vic and Cara, trying to find a comfortable position now that she wasn't really in contact with the couch anymore. (Wound up with her hip getting used as a table by Vic, and one arm crammed down between Vic and Cara's legs.) "I can drop Cara off tomorrow and take him aside for a little chat, or we can just wait and see how tomorrow goes and make our decisions from there."

Cara stretched her legs out (rumbled unhappily when her toe claws popped through another set of socks--maybe she'd start forgiving them soon for replacing all her brightly colored graphic socks with cheap white ones from the drugstore). "Could do half and half. You're in with him for his first hour, right Derek?" She didn't wait for him to actually nod, just picked up his agreement from the pack bond and continued. "Text us if something comes up, and we'll decide if Maria's just dropping me off or not then."

"Just try not to scare him off," Vic grumped, poking Maria in the side. "He brings in a lot of customers, and I've gotten used to him."

"Ugh. Fine."

So--the plan was no plan. _Great_.

\-----

The suspense might actually kill him.

Tony had swanned in five minutes early to swear at the schedule and laugh at Derek swearing at the mess Vic had made of the inks after he'd left the night before, but hadn't said anything. No hints, no offhand comments, no looks except for the usual death-glare when the phone rang _exactly_ as Tinge's regular hours started. (Derek couldn't exactly blame him for that one--he did the same thing.)

Derek had the first appointment, so Tony ensconced himself at the front with a sketchbook, eight sheets of tracing paper (Derek really wanted to ask), a marker, and a really judgey look for the high schoolers who came in to stare at the piercing display.

(He had to assume there was another one somewhere, picking something up or dropping something off and probably expecting to find the others at the coffee shop, not the tattoo parlor. It was more common in the summer, but there were always a few kids who'd gone through whatever hoops the school needed to get their PE credits off-site doing yoga or martial arts or something. Stupid adaptable school.)

The appointment hardly took up any time; just a quick line work touch up to fix a gap that should never have been there. (He might, maybe, have stretched the appointment out a bit, checking on how the guy was taking care of his ink and how he liked the design, but whatever. The gawkers were shuffling out by the time he was done, so it was a win.)

And then the customer left, abandoning Derek to one of the biggest gaps in his day, a workstation that hardly needed cleaning, and the back of Tony's head.

He dismantled his setup, setting his needles and stuff in the cleaning tray for later, tossing the contaminated ink and work gloves, wiping his station down more thoroughly than it probably needed.

Tony was still just sitting at the counter, staring at his tracing paper.

Derek lobbed one of his cleaning gloves (already inside-out, he wasn't a _monster_ after all) at Tony's back, grumbling "Would you just spit it out?"

(Maybe they should have thought this through more.)

"Hey now," Tony protested, twisting around to--not even glare. Just judge Derek and his life choices with his eyebrows. "Spit what out?"

"Whatever it was you were hinting you knew yesterday," Derek huffed, already walking over to retrieve the glove so he could throw it away properly. "With your comment to Cara and the looks and--"

Tony raised his hands up in a parody of defense, snickering. "Oh my god, Derek. I just know what most of the town knows. Jesus."

A weight settled in Derek's stomach. " _What?_ "

"Most is probably overstating it," Tony corrected himself, shrugging as he leaned back against the counter. "But when we first moved here, we had a neighbor stop by to say hi and tell us we shouldn't worry if we heard howling at night." His eyebrows went up pointedly. "She figured it might freak us out. Made sure we knew that there hadn't been a serious animal attack here in _years_. Do you get how that's a weird thing to tell your new neighbors?"

"Uh--"

"And just-- Little stuff. One of Ana's coworkers hangs yew and mistletoe in her office window. When Mike came in to get his leg repaired after his crash, he talked about this nurse who caught his stretcher when the gurney wheels failed or something. By herself. He remembered her hair color--don't ask, it's Mike, he's almost as weird as you," Derek bristled, "--so I figure he'd have noticed if she was a bodybuilder, y'know? Then I heard what's-his-name, the guy with the giant koi on his ribs and the ridiculously hot boyfriend, talking with said boyfriend a few weeks ago about whether it was safe to let the cats out because the full moon was coming up." Tony pulled an eloquent face. "That's not normal."

And--okay. He could admit those sounded weird, on their own. All together, it was-- 

Still just weird. (He didn't think the yew and mistletoe was anything to do with them. He'd have to ask his mom.)

"I know _something's_ up," Tony offered with a shrug. "And I figured you guys were part of it, 'cause you're too weird not to be. But I don't really care, 'cause it doesn't sound like whatever's going on is hurting anybody. So y'know," he waved a hand airily, already turning back around to his drawing. "Whatever."

That-- That was just Tony all over.

Derek finished stowing the cleaning supplies away and stomped up to the register to check the schedule and text his mother. "Do you _want_ to know?"

"Not really," Tony replied, squinting down at his layers of tracing paper. After a second his grinned. "Thanks for confirming there's something to know, though."

Derek would have growled at that, but Tony's first consult of the day swanned in through the front (she wasn't quite as expert as Tony, but it was a good effort), a coffee cup in either hand. As Tony scrambled to get his sketches out of the way of the descending beverages, Derek settled for texting his mother.

_T knows we r weird but doesnt care or want to kno_

_K xx_

Sometimes he took solace in the fact that his mother was just as bad a texter as he was.

\-----

When Cara got in, Maria didn't leave. Hung around the outside of the office in the back while Cara bustled up to the counter, wriggled between Tony and Derek's firebird reference page, and pushed.

"I'm horrible at keeping secrets," Tony moaned as he begrudgingly slunk towards Maria. "This is a terrible idea."

Maria was grinning as she closed the office door behind them.

Firebird walked in the front door a minute later, while Derek and Cara were trying not to actually cackle out loud at Tony's fervent "Oh thank fuck" when Maria told him "You don't have to be in on the big secret."

Derek pulled out the two versions he'd drawn up from Firebird's reference (she'd given him an ancient book, claiming photocopies just didn't look right. He hadn't asked about the corner that looked chewed on), laid them out for her to peer at along with her book. 

Personally, he preferred the version that _looked_ faithful to the original because of the shading he'd added and the lines he'd smoothed out, rather than the version that was actually faithful, right down to the smudges and rough edges.

She agreed, and it was only a few minutes before Derek was settling in with his gun and an expanse of well toned calf, still trying not to snicker at his mom and Tony. 

It was hard. It was really, _really_ hard. They kept saying stuff like--

"Where the hell do you live, the intersection of witch and crazy?"

"If that's more than half possible, you're doing a crappy job on not letting me in on the big secret."

"Your neighbor told you not to worry about the _howling_. I think you're pretty well spoiled already."

"Don't discount my ability to plug my ears and go la-la-la."

\--when he was _trying_ to concentrate on the dot work shading along the tail. Or--

"Where does your wife work?"

"Not-wife."

"--roommate? Girlfriend? I don't--"

"No, Ana's my not-wife. She won't marry me, and that's the term we've settled on."

"Ooh-kay. I'm feeling like I should have gotten more of a primer for this."

\--while he was bandaging Firebird up and helping her get the hem of her yoga pants down over the bandage without catching. And--

"Your not-wife sounds delightful, and I want to adopt her."

"Mine."

"Sharing is caring! You'd be family!"

\--when he was cleaning up his station, while Cara ran Firebird's card. She had to strangle her snickers back into her throat, but Derek at least could finally let his head thump down against the table to hide his grin.

They stood up finally, still talking.

"Alright, fine. But you can come over for dinner whenever you want. Even if you don't want to be in on things."

"That's-- Okay?"

"I can't promise someone won't be too weird for you to ignore, though. And you should bring Ana!"

"No. _My_ shiny."

"Too late. You told me where she works."

"Do you even realize how creepy that sounds?"

"Probably not."

Which was--perfect, really. Just in time for Derek to settle in next to Cara while she pushed a newly opened thing of Twizzlers under his nose.

"This'll have to do instead of popcorn," she muttered sadly, even though she still _felt_ amused. "We've really gotta get a microwave in here."

Then the office door was opening and the show was over.

Maria chirped a quiet goodbye as she slipped out the back door while Tony walked around to the front and rolled his eyes at them. "Really?"

"Best entertainment I've had all week, Bucko," Cara offered with a grin that was just a little too sharp.

Tony was totally screwed.

\-----

Cara spent the whole week coming in for a few hours, catching up on some of her pending consultations. Vic would drive her in, then she got to change into exercise-appropriate clothing and run home with Derek. 

It had the double benefit of explaining a bit more about Cara's sudden weight loss and helping keep her energy in check.

It also meant Stiles didn't get to drive Derek home, most days.

"When are you gonna be back to a regular schedule?" Stiles groused on Sunday, twisting and stretching so he could prod Cara in the head without falling out of Derek's lap. (Like he'd let him.)

"Soon's Mom'sez okay," Cara slurred, batting weakly at Stiles' foot (or, no, grabbing it, because it wasn't coming back anymore).

Vic laughed, rubbing her fingers through Cara's hair with one hand and reaching out to free Stiles' foot with her other. "Alpha, not Mom. She's more like my cousin."

"Whatev."

"Noooo," Maria protested, somewhere under Peter, Gwen, and Jacob. "'ve got enough kids."

His father raised a fist in solidarity, which just set everyone off to snickering. Except Maria, because, of course, she was _under three people_.

"Whad'd I miss?" she grumbled, voice turning to a growl when that just set everyone off again.

"Kinda glad Dad had to miss this one," Stiles admitted, slumping and lurching into a new position, or-- "Hey, lemme up for a minute. I need a bathroom break, and a new book."

Derek huffed out a put-upon sigh but let him go. Because he could be reasonable. Really. Sometimes.

"Dude, you've still got a grip on my pants. I am not walking around your house pantsless, c'mon."

Maybe.

\-----

The new pattern was hectic, but good. Having Cara in regularly, even if she was only pulling half days, helped free up the schedule immensely. Especially once she got a gun back in her hand, working on smaller pieces and touch ups. (They told people she wasn't available for more than forty-five minutes at a go. Sometimes less if someone had a scent that set her off, but most of her appointments were repeats, familiar enough to let her adjust. She was getting a lot better at not letting her eyes flare over all the blood.)

It left Vic with more time to grouse about ending up at the counter.

Stiles was caught up (or his own definition of caught up, anyway), but his schedule didn't seem to be letting up at all.

"I just figured I'd keep it up for a couple more weeks," Stiles explained when Derek asked about it on their usual Wednesday night call. "The schedule at Tinge stops being insane toward the end of next week, and Cara will probably be back to full time around then, right?" Derek hummed an affirmative, but it was probably sooner than that. The schedule, the art, the people--all of it was helping. "Right. So while you're busy running yourself into the ground, I'm clearing up my schedule for after it. I'm probably not gonna have to worry about anything but pop quizzes and random assignments through February."

That thought made Derek pause. Not Stiles' schedule, _February_. Valentine's Day.

"You still there?" Stiles asked, chair creaking ominously.

"Yeah," Derek reassured him. "Just thought of something."

"Anything I need to know about?"

Derek grinned, mentally adding up the days. "Nope."

Not yet, anyway.

\-----

Laura was out in the driveway when he got home, leaning over Niq's car, eyes glowing yellow against the dusk as she scraped a claw delicately around--something.

She barely huffed as he kept walking until he ran into her, hooking his chin over her shoulder. "Having fun?"

"No," she lied, doing what she could to flip her hair and giving him a mouthful of it when he tried to call her on it. "Niq said it's hesitating when she starts it in the mornings. I'm just checking it out. Now what do _you_ want?"

He tried to just spit the hair out, but it didn't work. Had to lean back and away to get the rest of it out, and Laura's elbow was in place to dissuade him from crowding close again. Rude. "There's something I want to do for Stiles for Valentine's Day, but I'm going to need help."

"What if I'm busy?" she grumbled, ducking further into the car. "I might be doing stuff."

"For the next two weeks?"

She bumped her head on the hood and Derek barely caught it in time when the support post fell off to the side. Laura pulled herself out from under the hood, still hissing, and jerked the support post back into place before turning to glare at him. "Okay. Try again?"

"I'd need your help around the end of next week. Mostly just taking letters and stuff to people," he explained, before she built the whole thing up into something a lot more complicated than it was. "I don't want Stiles to know about it, so--"

"So you can't run around like an idiot, because he'd notice," Laura finished for him, rolling her eyes. "Okay, fine. I can play messenger bird. Anything else?"

He hesitated, because he'd just assumed, but-- "Are you working on the fourteenth?"

She had Thursdays and Fridays off, lately, but people were generally willing to trade all sorts of shifts and favors to get off work that day (presumably so they could get off in other ways, but who was he to judge?). 

Normally, she worked all day then hit the bars with her single friends to celebrate Bitter Spinsters' Night (not that any of them were particularly bitter, or spinsters, but she'd assured him that wasn't the point the one year she'd managed to drag him along), getting buzzed off _their_ buzz and making sure everyone had a safe ride home at the end.

But--

"No," she growled, half daring him to ask why.

As it happened, Derek only liked fighting with his sister when it wasn't _real_. "Do you think someone at the shop would be willing to hold onto something for Stiles?"

He wasn't even sure he wanted to use the shop yet, but. Just in case.

"Probably," Laura drawled, eyeing him like he was something fascinatingly abnormal at the wrong end of a microscope. "Half the guys are bigger suckers for romantic schmoop than I am, as long as you don't call them on it. Why--" Her eyes widened as she trailed off, lurching forward into his space with an excited grin. "Are you making a scavenger hunt?"

He'd been thinking more like a puzzle. Something for Stiles to piece together and work apart, but-- "Yeah." He supposed that was the word for it, when you made someone wander all over town to find the solution.

Laura barked a laugh and threw herself at him in a hug that only didn't knock him over because she only had eight inches of room to work with (and he'd already had a leg braced behind him, because--well, he _always_ had his weight braced around Laura. It was just habit). "Oh my god, that's adorable. Of course I'll help! Do you need help planning? I'd be good at that."

Derek resisted the urge to groan, because it was too late, really. There was enough focused interest from the house that he was sure he'd hear his family talking about his plan if he tried.

(He wasn't admitting, at all, that he liked the idea of them helping. Not one bit.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tattoo Artists of the Week:** [Inner Image Ink](https://www.facebook.com/innerimageink/photos_stream), of Orlando Florida, as suggested by [CBookWyrm](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CBookWyrm). I am totally baffled by facebook, so this is generally how artists who only have facebook pages are going to get recognition--by suggestion from readers. Regardless of my opinions of their webpage, this place looks like it does good linework and has a nice mix of traditional and modern work.
> 
> Next up, [Alexis Calvie](http://tattrx.com/artists/alexis-calvi%C3%A9) of Black Heart Tattoo (Saint Raphael, France) focuses more on stark geometrics. And if y'all haven't figured it out yet, I am really fond of stark lines and geometric pieces. ;)
> 
> As a quick note for anyone who saw mention of a cleaning tray and worried about sterilization, the tools that will be sterilized in the autoclave have to be cleaned _first_. If anyone has more practical knowhow on this topic and would like to correct me, feel free! I am happy to learn more.
> 
> At this point, I am going to assume that I'm okay to be back on my regular weekly schedule. I'll try to note on my tumblr if anything changes, but I think I'm back on track with my schedule now.
> 
> [edit] If anyone knows of a good tattoo artist in the Chicago area, especially one with experience doing cover ups, please drop me a line. Or (to save on postage) check the comments of this chapter to reply directly for the reader looking for tips. [/edit]


	79. I'm happy for you, but you're seriously the worst

Stiles stopped by Tinge after school the next day. It was too busy to pick his scent out easily (he wasn't _new_ anymore, too entrenched in the general sense of everything), but the feel of him tumbled from quiet excitement to a grating disbelief. He rolled his eyes at Derek over the consultation counter and went to sit next to Cara at the register.

"Sorry," Cara laughed, and it sounded like she was ruffling his hair. "I had a good streak earlier."

"And why," Stiles asked, all exasperation, "does that mean he's still working in the back when he was _supposed_ to have a half hour free for me to bug him?"

Derek snorted, and had to wave off the concerned look his customer gave him. "Sorry. Just--the song playing."

That was apparently vague enough because Tribal Flame just looked at him like he was weird, flicked a glance up to the ceiling, then went back to focusing on the finger exercise he was doing with the arm Derek wasn't working on to keep his mind off the pain.

"You don't bug Derek," Cara pointed out for him. "And he _would_ be done, but I was able to keep focused for nearly an hour and a half, earlier. And Tony's appointment ran late, so--"

Stiles sighed, gusty and exaggerated. "I'm happy for you, but you're seriously the worst."

"I know bebe," Cara cooed, followed by--a raspberry, stool legs scraping and creaking ominously, and both of them laughing hysterically.

Derek set his gun aside and wiped the design down, watching the lines as the skin pulled slightly with each drag. "I think we're done," he said. "You should keep an eye on it though, and let me know if I missed any spots. I don't think I did, but--"

Tribal Flame was already nodding. "No, man, I get it. Red ink. Blood. Not so easy to tell apart, right?"

"Yeah." Not visually, at least. Not when he couldn't use his full range of vision. "If there's any gaps, just bring it back. We'll fix it for free."

"Cool," he muttered, nodding again. Didn't stop the entire time Derek cleaned and bandaged his arm, kept bobbing along to a rhythm Derek couldn't hear right through the aftercare instructions.

It seemed like he was paying attention, but Derek gave him two copies of the pamphlet when he walked him up to the register. Just in case.

Stiles quirked an eyebrow at him while Cara ran Tribal Flame's card, and Derek shrugged helplessly before ducking in to brush his nose through Stiles' hair, press a kiss against his temple. "I'll see you on Sunday?"

His next appointment walked in and smiled at Derek before turning to shoo her support-person off to a bench. Stiles huffed a sigh. "Why do _your_ appointments always have to be punctual? So not fair."

Abstract Lace Shoulder-caps looked like she wasn't sure if she should be affronted or pleased, her support-person snorting through his nose as he made his way to a window seat. Derek just wanted to sigh and hide under the counter, because his _life_.

But no. He had to work.

(Damnit.)

\-----

Lace Shoulders was fine while they were working, coherent when he asked how she was doing, moving when he needed to change angles, but as soon as he taped her up she burst into giggles.

Derek blinked. Looked up toward the front where Cara was visibly brain-veep in a consultation who seemed to be communicating more with hand gestures and facial expressions than words, and heaved a mental sigh. Walked Lace Shoulders (in all her wobbly, laughing-to-herself glory) up to the right side of the counter and encouraged her to lean against the glass next to the register while he circled around and grabbed one of the aftercare pamphlets to go over with her.

(Stiles was--still there, but distracted. Perched on the window seat staring intently as Lace Shoulders' support-person did--something. Was it still knitting if there were more than four needles involved?

Derek wasn't sure, and didn't care, right at that moment.)

Lace Shoulders made it through the first thirty seconds, enough to take the pamphlet and hand over her credit card, then turned away. Waved the pamphlet at her support-person. "Jamaal. Heeeeelp."

Derek went ahead and ran Lace Shoulders' card (her name was Adya, apparently) while Jamaal tucked his needles away and said goodbye to Stiles, grinning the whole time. Talked _him_ through the aftercare while Adya hid her face in his shoulder and giggled. Finally waved them out the door.

"The giggly ones still weird me out," Stiles muttered, shoving off his seat and walking over. "Your last appointment cancelled and Cara said she wants to wait and head home with Vic," he added, leaning over the counter with a grin. "Wanna get out of here?"

There was no sense of a lie but Derek checked the schedule anyway. Scorpion-Rose (Skad-something) was crossed out. Rescheduled to late February.

He didn't bother glancing over at Cara. Her head was bowed over a sketch at the consultation counter while her customer tried to gesticulate through their thought process, but she wasn't half as distracted as she looked. Gave him an affectionate nudge through the bond. 

"Let's go," he agreed, smiling to watch Stiles' face light up. "Wanna grab something to eat?"

It wasn't really time for dinner and long past time for lunch, but they wound up at Floyd's, sharing a plate of fries and a sketchbook for the first time in--too long. 

Derek offered a curved line. Stiles drew a sharp ninety-degree angle over it. Derek expanded the lines into a cluster, Stiles turned the curve into--he probably meant it to be smoke, but it came out more like seaweed.

Stiles added striations and triangular windows to the geometric cluster, then started on another one. Derek anchored the kelp to the buildings (or whatever), grabbed a fry out of habit when Stiles nudged the plate toward him, and traced in a suggestion of mountains in the background. Fantasy mountains, with geologically improbable peaks and spires. Stiles curled his hand around Derek's and started copying the mountain upside-down, past the apparently-a-city. 

For a moment, their hands were almost placed right to be drawing one another, Escher brought to life, but then they moved on, tracing lines of rock away from each other.

Derek added more building-clusters and gave the kelp a bit more detail while Stiles turned his mountain-echo into a trench, piling dirt along the sides and adding a tiny figure with a tiny shovel to a too-abrupt end.

Then Stiles started twisting the impression of a flock of birds across the sky. Some were upside-down on the page, some were upside-down for Stiles, and none of them were very detailed. Not even proper birds, really. Just the impression of movement, of feathers and flapping and a distant racket.

"You're getting better," he noted. Watched the side of Stiles' mouth draw up into something small and pleased.

He wanted to keep it forever, so he grabbed out another book while Stiles finished with his birds. Got to sketching. Glancing up every so often so Stiles would smile again, distracted and fond.

They had the weirdest dates, but whatever. They enjoyed them. That's what mattered.

\-----

He didn't even get a chance to recover from work, Friday evening. Laura brought him a map, an interfering uncle, and a gleam in her eye that suggested nothing good. (Although, to be fair, letting Laura sweep him up into her plotting meant he wasn't co-opted for terror-duty when he was already tired.)

It was Laura, so it was at least twice as complicated as it had to be. She and Peter bickered over things that were--honestly, he was missing the entire point behind the sniping over metaphors. He didn't mind, just kept focused on the map and putting yellow post-its everywhere he associated with Stiles.

Tinge, the school, Floyd's, the sheriff's department, the Stilinski home, the clearing they'd had their first date in (or--near it, anyway). Two post-its pointed off the map, labeled 'beach' and 'Sacramento', because he was a completist. He put another post-it down at the school labeled 'Scott', because he didn't know where else to put it. Added another for Allison.

Once he'd finished with the yellow post-its, he went for the other colors. Green for places he knew he could count on for help, like Fiona's shop, Laura's garage, and the nursery. Pink for red herrings, because, well. Hale. (Just because he thought his family was ridiculous most of the time didn't mean he didn't understand the urge that came with it.)

Peter snorted and added another green post-it, grinning at Derek with his eyes, and--yes.

Perfect.

\-----

_I hav a plan_ woke Derek up a little after 4 a.m. Saturday morning, followed by _Shit sorry_ and _But srsly im in chrg tmrw_ and--

"If that thing doesn't stop buzzing," Laura growled softly through the wall. "I am going to _eat it_."

Derek didn't think Stiles would text again (he hoped) so he just shoved the phone under his pillow.

He'd answer in the morning ( _actual_ morning, after the birds had woken up), no sense in encouraging--

His phone buzzed again. Laura growled. Derek snatched his phone out and turned it off without even checking the new message.

Laura's growl smoothed out into an irritable rumble but her breathing started to slow down again. Going back to sleep.

Which--he probably wasn't. Couldn't.

It was tempting to turn his phone back on, text Stiles back and keep _him_ up all night too, but--

Well. He'd had five hours. It was enough to not suck.

He'd just bake something and text Stiles back at a more reasonable hour.

Like, say, in five hours. 

That sounded like a plan.

Cinnamon rolls (again) sounded boring, so he poked around in the recipe books for awhile. The German book Edward had brought back for Peter was missing, but he found a scones list that looked interesting in one of his grandmother's binders. Maple-glazed, fruit filled, cheese-and-herb, something devious with cumin and cinnamon--there were so _many_ options to play with, and the basic recipe was easy to whip together.

Then there were birds chirping, the house was starting to rouse, he had scones on every horizontal surface of the kitchen that could reasonably hold baked goods, and he finally remembered to turn his phone back on to check on whatever it was Stiles had said last.

_4 our DATE and omg plz tel me u turn ur phone off @ nite im the worst_

That--was something he should probably start doing.

Stiles probably already did (especially if there was even half a chance Scott had the same issues), and--really, Derek had woken him up early a few times already.

No point in doing it again.

\-----

Breakfast made him worry his family wasn't going to let him leave the _kitchen_ , let alone the town. Decided he wasn't too proud to slink upstairs when they were distracted by the last batch of savories coming out of the oven, pack up what he needed for work, and sneak out his window.

Work mostly passed as a blur, nobody offensive enough or with ink spectacular enough to really catch his attention. It wasn't until Cara growled faintly and stalked back to the office that he really cued in to what was going on beyond what he was working on right then (at the moment, an ankle butterfly, mostly ignored as he tracked his packmate and tried to get a better bead on her than just irritated affront).

"Something up?" Tony asked, eyebrows drawn down as he watched Cara stalk (that was really the only word for it, unfortunately) between the workstation Tony was cleaning and the one Derek was using.

She flapped a (human, thankfully) hand at him. "My only big appointment this afternoon just called to cancel," she explained, not pausing on her way back. "I've got another three people I might be able to fit into that spot. Just. Annoying. I'll be right back, I just--"

The phone rang and Cara froze, growl--edging out of the range that could be explained, for a human. (Ankle Butterfly twitched under his hand and he patted her calf, turning his attention back to her skin with a muttered apology.)

"I've got it," Tony said, straightening up and tossing his cleaning rag into a bin. "You go sort out your schedule. I can handle the front."

"Thanks," she sighed, but didn't continue on to the office until the ringing stopped, Tony's voice chipper and artificial as he greeted the caller. When Tony started setting up a consultation for Vic, Cara moved, finally. Pushed the door of the office open and muttered "I'm just so _tired_ of this shit" once the door had shut safely behind her. "I talked Maria into letting me stay late today so I could make enough time to see that jerk."

Derek couldn't respond. Had to just breathe deep and slow and focus on predictable lines, colors, pattern, shading.

It made him realize the time, though, when he walked his client up to Tony for the aftercare talk and to pay. He grabbed his phone from the shelf by Tony's hip, ignoring Tony's theatrical yelp about bad-touch, and brought up the lock screen on his way through the gate.

Past two. No texts from Stiles. No missed calls. No Stiles at the parlor.

Weird.

He shoved his phone in his pocket and finished cleaning Tony's station before moving on to his own. Tony was the next one with an appointment, after all. Besides, it was nearly done.

\-----

Cara emerged from the office just as Derek was finishing up with his own station, while Tony was still getting his customer set up for work over the side and lower ribcage (tricky at the best of times--not the most painful, usually, but definitely one of the most likely areas to make someone try to flinch, curl up, or kick).

Derek bowed her past him through the gate, mostly to make her scrunch her nose up at him, and pressed up against her side as she corrected the schedule. Erased _Patter_ 's hour-and-a-half block (the longest she'd scheduled in advance since November). Shifted _Yuu_ 's consult to the end of her day, _Mand_ up to 2:30 and _Jedyn_ in the space between, a nearly two-hour block.

(She was doing _really well_.)

Derek had half an hour until his next appointment, and by that time Vic should be in. It'd work.

He bumped his nose against Cara's cheek. "Want me to grab food?"

"Yeah," she sighed, popping the register open and jotting down a quick note before grabbing some bills. "For everybody. Just pretend I actually got this out of petty cash like I should have, okay?"

"Sure thing. Noodles?"

"Gods yes," Cara agreed, pressing against him half in affection, half in hunger and wanting him out the door. "Get me something spicy."

He went, laughing, "You've been spending too much time with Tania."

Cara was adorable when she was confused.

There was still no text from Stiles when he got outside, so he called. It'd take him a few minutes to get to the noodle place anyway.

"I guess I did sort of ditch you today, didn't I," Stiles said instead of a greeting, as soon as the line connected. Because his mate.

"Yup," Derek agreed. "After making my sister threaten to break my phone with your texts this morning."

The snort that followed that announcement did _not_ sound apologetic. "Uh. Yeah. Sorry about that? I was just--"

"Excited?" Derek drawled. (But really, he could appreciate the feeling. He wanted to tell Stiles about his idea for Valentine's Day.) "Fair enough. Do I get to know anything about what we're up to?"

"Nope," Stiles confirmed cheerfully. "You like surprising me too much. Turnabout's fair play."

"Okay," he agreed easily, grinning at the frustrated little noise Stiles made. "Speaking of that, though. Do you have anything in mind for Valentine's Day?"

There was a dull thud. It sounded like a painful thud. "Stiles?"

"I'm fine," Stiles muttered, voice tight. "Just--bumped my head. But--Valentine's Day? Seriously?"

He sounded--disbelieving. Baffled. Derek felt his gut coiling up, white jagged lines encroaching on the edges of his mood. "Do you--not want to do anything? Or--"

"No! Just," Stiles hesitated, breathing slowing then speeding up again. "Oh my god, it's February."

"As of yesterday," Derek confirmed, starting to smile. He had a feeling he knew where this was going. "Didn't you notice? You were in school, right?"

"Oh my _god_ ," Stiles wailed, slumping against something that rattled. "I thought there was still, like, a month. They started putting all that obnoxious pink stuff out _way_ too early this year."

"So you haven't made any plans," Derek said, feeling a grin stretching at his eyes. "Good."

"I take it _you_ have plans," Stiles grumbled, but he sounded more relaxed, now. More at ease. "Okay, fine. You can have this year. But I get next Sunday too."

"Works for me," Derek agreed, glancing up. And--shit. He was there already. "I've gotta go, I'm just out on a shop errand. Anything I should know for tomorrow?"

Stiles snorted. "You mean you're fetching food, because you dorks all forgot to leave when you had breaks." Which--true enough. "And not really. Dress comfy, I guess."

"I can do that. Just let me know when you're picking me up, or when I should be there."

"I can do that," Stiles echoed back with a weird accent before making an obnoxious kissing noise into the phone and hanging up.

What the hell.

\-----

_Date = my place @ noon_ finally showed up on his phone around nine thirty the next morning. Because why bother with advance notice?

He shot back a quick acknowledgement just as Stacia huffed and bit his pants leg to get his attention.

"Stacia," Niq chided from her sprawl over the other couch. "Words. Use them."

Grumbling, Stacia let go of his pants just to turn the puppy eyes on him "I don't understand this question."

He stuffed his phone back in his pocket, leaning over to peer down at Stacia's pack homework sheet. Kept a corner of his eye on Niq and Paul, not because he was worried but because the relief of Niq being able to cuddle and feed Erin again (even if it was from a bottle, with Erin's back nestled against her chest to keep all the pointy bits aimed away) was so bright and wide in his head he couldn't _stop_ looking.

Stacia's problem was easier to fix. Mostly. "Kiddo, this is a wolf question. Remember, you don't need to answer the ones with the capital W next to the number."

"But I _want_ to," she grumbled, kicking the base of the coffee table lightly. "I need to know too, don't I?"

Technically, she couldn't smell an unfamiliar wolf in their territory. But. "Well, what would you do if you saw a stranger, out in the woods?"

"Call for Grandpa, or daddy, or whoever was out with us," she said scornfully, which--fair.

"What if you'd gotten separated from them?" he tried instead. "That's what this would be like, for Gwen or Jacob. They might get away from an adult. Not be in hearing range. So what would you do?"

"Hide," she said immediately. "Or run. But if I hid, then I'd run when it was safe and I'd come home and tell everybody."

"That's good. Write that down."

(He supposed her answer did sort of boil down to 'I wood hide and run and tell pack', and she was still getting comfortable with writing, so he let it slide.)

"Help me next," Jacob whined from his other side. Because this was his life right now.

Derek tilted his head back to address the house. "I have to leave in about an hour. Just so you know."

His mother laughed at him from her study as he pulled Jake's worksheet closer. Because she was evil.

\-----

He was a little early to Stiles' place, but it didn't set off anything but excitement as the bond between them woke up. Stiles felt like he was in the kitchen and made no move toward the door as Derek walked up, so he tried the knob. Stepped in hesitantly when he found it unlocked.

"Um?"

"No, yeah, come in," Stiles called back, over an abrupt electronic rattle. "Hah! Take that."

Derek toed his shoes off and made his way to the kitchen, curious. It smelled like butter. And salt, garlic, sugar, chocolate, chili, cumin...

Corn?

There were boxes and boxes of candy lined up along one of the counter tops, which explained some of it. An _ancient_ looking popcorn machine explained the rest. Stiles was pushing it back a bit further on the counter, shoving a gigantic metal bowl under the spout (was that even the right word?) and fumbling to catch one of the little bowls of spices when it got bumped out of the way.

"I--honestly didn't know people still had those," Derek said, settling in against the doorframe and just watching. Because this? Looked entertaining. (And watching Stiles was always enjoyable anyway.)

Stiles snorted and shrugged. "It was up in the attic. I hauled it down and cleaned it up yesterday after magic-school," he explained, rolling his eyes as he finally got everything balanced and was able to back off from the counter. "I thought it'd be nice to stay in, but still do something date-y? Like, normal date-like, not--" He cut himself off with a huff and turned away to poke at the fridge, pulling out--hot dogs? "And you didn't feel too thrilled about the theater last time, even though you suggested it, so I thought-- Is this stupid?"

He hadn't really explained what 'this' was, but--popcorn, boxed candy, theater?

Derek grinned and pushed away from the door, crowding into Stiles' space and nosing behind his ear. "A movie date sounds great."

"The popcorn's bound to be better, anyway," Stiles said, apples blooming in his scent just like the grin on his face. "I like putting all sorts of stuff in it, but I wasn't sure what you'd like, so--" He waved a hand at the little spice bowls.

Stiles had planned their date so Derek had no idea what they'd be watching, but he hoped there'd be something he knew already. Something he didn't care too much about, so he could spend the whole time trying to distract Stiles from what was on the screen.

"I like M&Ms in the standard butter and salt," he offered instead, brushing his nose along Stiles' neck to feel him shiver. "But we can start with the spicy mix."

"Save the other one for dessert?" Stiles laughed, leaning back into him for a moment before pulling away to mix the spices with the butter he'd left sitting out. "Sounds good."

It was good. It was _delightful_ , just sitting with Stiles and bickering over movie choices. Getting to watch movies with custom popcorn and all the Whoppers he wanted, since Stiles thought they were gross. Able to pull out a sketchbook whenever their fingers weren't too greasy, and pausing a movie to make the hotdogs when they decided they were more hungry than invested in the plot.

(It was a little awkward when John wandered through while Derek had a hand up the back of Stiles' shirt, but he just shook his head at them and stole some of their popcorn. It was fine.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tattoo Artist of the Week:** [Lodestone Tattoo](https://www.facebook.com/pages/Lodestone-Tattoo/150406174991208?sk=photos_stream), of Cornwall, UK. (Their main website is [here](http://www.lodestonetattoo.co.uk/), but currently appears to be down. So facebook it is.) Some quite nice line work. Thanks to CivilEngineers for the rec!
> 
> On the popcorn machine; before you state that it was weird Derek didn't think people had those anymore, especially with his kitchen-focused family, please note that _I didn't think people had those anymore_ , even with my own kitchen focus. Popcorn is, apparently, just not a huge part of his or my life. (The one Stiles is using is quite old, not one of the newer models that are apparently available now.)
> 
> Should be another update next week, Sunday evening or Monday whenever.


	80. a wily and conniving little brat

Laura had started calling it The Plot. Gloated over the map, bared her teeth at him when he reclaimed it every night before he went to bed. (He was starting to worry that she was somehow more invested in the whole thing than _he_ was.)

He still claimed the map back every night. Pinned it up on his new cork board, over his schedule and mundane reminders, so he could stare at it as he tried to sleep, brain whirling with options and intersections. Sometimes he had Pitch for company, curled up against his shoulder or sprawled on his chest. Sometimes he didn't.

(Either way, he woke up with the cat purring contented murder, curled up on his face.)

(But he was actually _sleeping_ , even if it never felt like he'd get there, at night. Dreams full of routes and clue ideas and black fur up his nose every morning, but sleeping. He'd take what he could get.)

Monday, Derek was trying to focus on a sugar-glider design (his customer wanted it to have a mohawk and an ear piercing--Derek was having trouble sticking to serious sketches, not cartoons) with Niq curled up at the other end of the couch, sprawled out over most of the cushions, feet shoved mostly under his thigh as she read something on her tablet. (Apparently it was too cold, even with her real-bunny bunny slippers on. And apparently, she didn't understand the concept of blankets. But whatever.)

It was a nice, quiet evening until Laura dragged in a box of odds and ends like the weird thrift-store magpie she was. (He still hated the lamp. Saw it every morning, hated it, hoped blearily that the cats would try to climb it and topple the damn thing over. Laura still loved it, and the cats were, as ever, unhelpful.)

It wasn't until she presented him with the box, beaming like it was a particularly fat rabbit, that he realized it was meant for him. (Niq was laughing at them both. It wasn't out loud, not even enough for a werewolf to hear, but her tablet was shaking and her amusement was practically painting the pack bonds with coral.) 

Derek squinted dubiously as Laura set the box down at his feet, but put his sketchpad away. Straightened up to peer at her prize while she flopped down to sit on the floor on its other side.

She fished out a smallish conch shell with one hand and a monstrosity of a picture frame involving sand-dollars, a few poor dried starfish, and a moon snail shell with the other. Grinned. "For the beach?"

The frame was hideous. Like, spectacularly hideous. It was a dull navy under broad patches of glue and random bits of grit that implied it had been covered over in sand at one point. And just-- _why_.

Laura glowered and rolled back on her haunches so she could poke him with her foot as he kept staring at the horrible. "Stop judging it and look at the components, baby brother."

"That's Jacob," he protested automatically, ignoring her equally automatic "You're _both_ my baby brothers" and accepted the handful of awful she passed him as she pulled out a faded purple t-shirt.

(The moon snail shell broke when they tried cracking it off the frame, so it was the conch. One-half of two different pairs of earrings went inside to rattle teasingly, and just enough extra space to slip in a clue without losing it entirely.)

(Not that he was sure where the conch was going to go on the map, or where it would lead to. But he had the shell itself figured out.)

\-----

When he got home on Tuesday, Cara still playfully trying to grab at his heels or hamstrings with her (human, always human) fingers, Peter and Paul were in the kitchen, both with a baby in tow (Greg wrapped around Peter's calf, and Erin as-usual tucked into the crook of Paul's arm) and Paul radiating not-quite-smug. (Which was probably intentional, because nothing else was guaranteed to make Peter grind his teeth like that feeling, provoked by him.)

The kitchen didn't smell enticing enough to explain _why_ both of them were in there or what they were doing, but Cara peeled away from him with a hopeful chuff to investigate the fridge (still getting used to eating enough for her new metabolism). 

Paul nodded a greeting as they came in, but Peter was too focused on a box much too dirty to normally be allowed on the counter to pay much attention. The box smelled green, slightly spicy, a lot earthy--mushrooms, maybe? The green scents were too mixed, too varied, to pick apart easily.

"How do you even have--" Peter cut himself off as Cara opened the fridge, eyes flicking up and over her, settling on Derek and glaring as he slapped the flaps of the box together. "Nope. No sneaking peeks at the menu. Out."

Cara growled, low and more plaintive than anything, and Peter rolled his eyes (even though she couldn't see it, waist deep in the fridge like she was). "You can stay. _You_ ," he huffed, flapping an irritated hand Derek's way. "Out."

Okay then. Cara's growl turned pleased and Derek slunk out to track down his map.

Which, when he found it, had extra post-its. Two in Tania's handwriting, both green, and one from Niq. Pink, of course: _3811 Beach Dr. House is empty. Owner's ok if you stay outside_

Tania's read _Fiona lives here!_ and _Did I tell you I work w/ Scott's mom?_ with arrows pointing toward the hospital and a random residential corner of town.

(His family. What even.)

\-----

Cara had a great Wednesday. Sold one of her watercolor-vomit paintings (her words) off the waiting area wall _and_ made it through three long appointments. All over an hour, one almost two.

Not quite a full work shift, but close.

Tania got home halfway through the celebratory bottle of wine ("Oh my god it tastes _so different_ "), collected her younger son from his position on the floor (plotting against Cara's toes like the fierce predator he was), blew an enormous raspberry on his belly, kissed her older son's hair, then flopped into her arm chair.

She waved one of Greg's feet at Derek until he looked over from Matt's homework. "Melissa says Scott would be thrilled to help you out, but can't keep a secret from Stiles to save his life."

Derek considered that. Greg flailed, kicking for his mother's hands as she continued "She suggested you write up some instructions, and she'll pass them along for you the night before."

That worked. He nodded, went back to Matt's math problem.

\-----

He had a brainwave about four in the morning. Extracted himself from Pitch and stood up, crossed the room to his map. Wrote down a **1** on one of the post-its. Made it through **6** before he went back to bed. Took his pillow away from the cat, because no.

Woke up again a few hours later with a crick in his neck and a purring cat in the middle of his pillow.

\-----

Thursday afternoon, Laura breezed through Tinge's front door, announcing "I'm here for my brother!" in ringing tones. And what the hell.

"You're half an hour early!" Derek yelled back, still wiping down his station. (She'd hear him if he talked normally, or even whispered if she was paying attention, but Tony was at the front desk, snickering under his breath, and--right. They didn't need to pretend in front of him anymore, though he'd probably prefer it if they did.)

Laura leaned to the side, resting a hand on the counter in a show of needing help balancing when she was craned out almost horizontal to give him a haughty look around the wall. "Cara texted me. Your last consult totally flaked out, so get a move on!" She disappeared again, voice softening as she asked "Is that new? I don't remember that one."

"Do I need to call an adult?" Tony deadpanned, but he didn't sound distressed so Derek finished cleaning up his station. Jogged back past a sniggering Cara and baffled looking customer (right--the other reason to keep up the human act) to pick up his bag.

When he got to the front, Tony had his arm stretched out and was humming out the melody he'd added to the upper curve of his forearm, tapping his way along the notes as Laura stared.

After separating his coworker from his sister (or his sister from his coworker?) and narrowly avoiding Laura's attempt at a headlock, he let her drag him out the front with grumbling complaints about him ruining all her fun.

(He'd just said he was heading to Alan's clinic after work. Hadn't _asked_ for a ride. Not that Laura cared. Said it was on her way. To _what_ he had no idea, but it was Laura.)

The clinic still reeked of harsh chemicals and blood, injury, fear, and sickness too strong to ignore, though the overwhelming wall of _cat_ was at least easier to deal with (thanks, Mom), but Alan showed up before the front door's chime had fully faded, lifting the counter gate so Derek could pass through. Escape back to his office, where the scents were easier to take.

"Excellent timing," Alan said as he closed the gate after Derek. "I don't have any appointments for a while. How can I help you?"

"I was wondering if you could give Stiles something for me, after your lesson next Wednesday--"

\-----

"Are you _sure_ you don't want to tell me what you're planning?" Stiles cajoled on Friday, sprawled carefully over the counter at Tinge and pouting up at him. (Which--was fine. They didn't have any customers who needed it right then. And the view was hysterical.) "What if I'm planning the same thing for Sunday? Ever thought about that?"

"Even if you are," Derek said, giving Stiles' arms a gentle push which only made him slump a little more enthusiastically. "It'll be different."

"You are the _worst_ ," Stiles sighed dramatically, leaning a bit more and--

There was the yelp, and the flail, and the falling.

"You okay?" Derek asked, even though he could feel that Stiles was. A little bruised, maybe, but not _hurt_.

(Just like he could feel that Stiles was enjoying the suspense.)

"I hate you," Stiles grumbled from the floor. "Just so you know."

"Love you too."

(If Stiles' heartbeat sped up and his scent went all to apples at that--well. That was just a bonus.)

\-----

Saturday should have been boring. 

Cara was booked almost solid, up to a full work shift (even though everyone at the end of the day knew she might need to quit early, just in case). Tony was in for a while, most of it booked, and Vic had taken the day off because she had to take breaks occasionally.

(Not that she wasn't a master at embracing them when she'd resigned herself to it. Derek thought she might still be in her bathrobe.)

Derek himself had all of three appointments, none of which he expected to take all that long, even allowing for twitchy canvases, and a couple of simple consults. But most of his day was keeping an eye on the phone and the door and working on commissions he already had a grip on.

In a sense, Saturday _was_ boring, full of impatient pencil tapping and the clock moving much, much too slowly. His first two appointments and lunch crawled by, but eventually it was 3:30, and a familiar face was peeking hesitantly through the door.

Derek was up out of his seat almost before he realized it. Waved, and didn't have to fake his smile, even if it was still mostly around his eyes as he called "You're making me nervous you're going to run away."

Yuriko laughed and slipped the rest of the way in, the same friend as last time (he thought) trailing at her heels. "Sorry! I just. I know I should have made my appointment earlier, it's just--"

Derek shook his head and gestured them over to the consultation counter. "Things happen, it's fine. Tony's running a bit over, so--"

"Oh, no, we can wait," Yuriko hurried to assure him, digging in her bag. "I was going to talk to you about this after, but-- I mean, if we have the time--"

She pulled out a sketch and a printout of one of the shots they took of the top of her tattoo, the last time she was in, and he decided that he adored her. Because that? That was a new tattoo. He was going to get to play with her blackwork again.

"I was just, um, going to schedule a consult after. But--would something like this be possible? I don't want exactly this. I suck. But--"

"No, I like this," Derek assured her as he got fingertips on the sketch, pulled it closer. 

Flat, penciled out on a page, the embroidery pattern looked pretty ridiculous, an awkward, shallow Y shape. The photo, on the other hand, explained away all the weird connections. Showed something like the flat design with the gap in the middle pulled together, flowing over the top of her shoulder and cupping it like a pauldron.

It wasn't easy to translate paper to the contours of skin, but that was okay. That's what he was for. "I can do this. Do you want me to just work up some concepts, or--"

"No, yes," Yuriko interrupted, blushing and laughing when her friend sighed and covered her eyes. "I mean, yes. Please. And don't-- Don't feel obligated to do exactly this. I mean, I'd like to mostly use the same motifs as the other one, but mostly I want it to look good, y'know?"

He nodded because he definitely had a favorite customer. Even if she had tried to kick him while they were working. "I have license to play a little. Got it." He grinned up at her, remembered to show his teeth. "How about this. I'll call you when I have some basic ideas down, and we can set up a real consult then."

Yuriko bounced on her stool, clapping her hands delightedly while her friend tried to hide the entirety of her face in her hands. 

After a second, when the clapping didn't stop immediately, her friend muttered "God, Riko, you're embarrassing," from behind her hands.

"You love me," Yuriko chirped, clasping her hands together and grinning at Derek. Eyes flicking past him. Which--

Derek didn't jump when Tony clapped his shoulder, but only because he'd just _barely_ started paying attention to what he was hearing behind him. "I've got the front."

That was all the invitation Yuriko needed to shove everything back in her bag and scurry up to be let into the back, her friend following with amused tolerance.

"I'll try not to kick this time," Yuriko promised as she climbed up onto the table, hiking her skirt up to reveal an old-looking pair of bicycle shorts underneath (good plan, they were loose enough not to pinch her skin when she rolled them up to expose the healed lines of the work they'd already done). She'd shaved recently, so he wiped her down in case she was wearing lotion, and as he went to grab her a bolster pillow to prop herself up against, she flopped down onto her side, trying to find a comfortable way to lie. "I'm still really sorry about--"

"It happens," Derek shrugged, handing over the bolster, letting her get settled, then gently manipulated her leg into better alignment and placed the pattern, carefully lining it up with the old lines. "Okay, done with that. You can move a little if you want, I just need to--" She waved him off toward the sink and yeah, she was going to turn into one of those regulars who practically ran the show themselves. (He couldn't wait.) "And you probably won't," he reassured her, while her friend located a wheelie stool not in use and confiscated it to sit within gripping reach. "The last couple ribs and the abdominals tend to bring that out in people."

"So this time won't be as bad?"

Well-- He shrugged again. "You probably won't kick, but we _are_ doing your ankle. That's pretty painful for some people." He pulled his gloves on as she sighed. "Ready?"

"I can fake it?" she offered with a smirk, and her friend laughed.

(She was ready.)

\-----

Stiles got there in time for the ankle, and Yuriko agreed to let him come watch. Which was perfect, because Stiles and her friend interacting were _hilarious_ , all snark and protective squinting and random thought jumps. Trying not to jerk her foot too much while laughing kept Yuriko's focus off the pain.

Or--it helped, at least.

(It helped _Derek_ that Stiles hung around until he was off shift. Pressed up against his side and filled the bond with delight and interest while Derek laid out the area he'd need, noted where the pattern would need to be cut to fit the curves of human skin. Argued with him about connection points on the back of the arm, and leaned in closer when Derek talked about nerve rich skin and instinct.)

(Eventually Stiles stole a pencil to draw out a flow of lines that shouldn't have made sense, but did. He'd have to do the stencil in two pieces to get the transition points to line up right, but making the main portion of the partial sleeve a diamond shape-- Letting the lines cross in the back to isolate a single meeting point instead of a band was kind of brilliant. It would work, and look good, and the less time he had to spend on the underside of Yuriko's arm, the easier it would be for all of them.)

(It would look amazing. Good enough to replace the wings at the front of his portfolio, maybe. If they could keep Yuriko from imploding-of-blush for long enough to get some good photos.)

\-----

They went to Floyds for dinner, because it had somehow gotten late when he wasn't looking, and they were creatures of habit.

After the tattoo design session, it was kind of relaxing to work on a flat canvas and just imply three-dimensionality for a while. (Even if Stiles' weeping willows had tentacles for some reason.)

Stiles drove him home. Told him on the way that he should show up at his place around 11 the next morning for their date, and not to wear anything he was particularly fond of (always a bit ominous).

(He was glad Stiles had started figuring out that the wiggly edges of his pack-sense getting clearer probably meant the wolves could hear him, at least distantly. The commentary about clothes would have been--yeah.)

\----

After a night of Pitch being unusually and obnoxiously affectionate, drooling happily into his hair and attempting to remove his nose with the sheer power of his purr, Derek gave up. Left the house just before seven am. (It was that or start baking, and he'd never get away.)

His mother grumbled out an acknowledgement when he asked to borrow her car. Muttered something about almond pastries that he ignored in favor of heading for Alan's clinic (Alan was already there, to Derek's surprise, so he actually dropped off the package he'd brought as a just-in-case) to start tracing out the route he had in mind.

The first section only took half an hour, which was good.

The second section was harder. He had to change his thoughts about what order a few of the clues would go in, to keep Stiles from sensing Derek, but it worked after that. Should take a little over an hour and a half, if he figured everything out right away and ignored the red herrings.

A little early for dinner, but not too bad. Peter probably wouldn't grumble too much. (At least no more than he ever grumbled about Valentine's Day menus and timing and his kitchen minions.)

He swung by the bakery at the end of Howe before heading home to drop off the car and change clothes. 

His family might have already finished breakfast, but that didn't mean their noses weren't twitching before Derek even got out of the car. By the time he was changed and back downstairs, Niq was curled up on one of the main room couches next to Paul, who smelled suspiciously of raspberry, eating a chocolate croissant and making faces at Erin. Tania and Peter were bickering over whether orange or raspberry paired better with chocolate, and Olivia and Maria were having a staring contest over the last almond croissant. 

There was a _reason_ he'd left the box of pastries to take over to Stiles' place in his mother's trunk.

He'd forgotten that the trunk latch on his mom's car was sometimes finicky. Had not forgotten that she did _not_ approve of dealing with the damn thing the fast way, even though you could barely see the claw marks along the edge. By the time he'd dealt with that and run to Stiles', he was barely early, closer to the time Stiles had told him instead of his habitual twenty minutes before.

The bond lit up all excited purples as he came into range, and Stiles was leaning out the door waiting for him when he got there, smelling like apples and happy and--like he hadn't showered.

(In humans, Derek figured that would be kind of rude. But Stiles radiated smug when Derek pushed into his space. Shoved his nose into the curve of Stiles' neck and drew the scent of him over his tongue.)

"I was gonna plan something special," Stiles admitted, maneuvering them far enough into the house that he could actually close the door. "But everything seemed kind of hokey or like it was too much, y'know? Especially when I just wanted to, like, cuddle you for an hour or three. So--"

"I don't mind a sleeping date," Derek hurried to assure him. "Those are amazing."

Stiles laughed and pulled away, started tugging him toward the stairs, barely giving him time to drop the pastry box off on the kitchen table. "Not quite what I had in mind."

They were halfway up the stairs before Derek noticed the smell: thick and dense, rich with oils, resins and minerals. Paint.

Stiles' room was covered in art. The desk had been taken over by stiff pieces from the sketchbook he'd given Stiles for Christmas, slathered over with broad strokes and rich color covering nearly edge to edge. There were canvas boards set up against the walls, and an easel he didn't even know about set up in the corner with a larger board set up on it, color and texture rippling across it like a cross between fireworks and Starry Night.

It was _nothing_ like what he'd seen from Stiles before.

Christmas had worked. Better than he'd realized. He'd known Stiles was willing to follow him when he picked up a colored pencil now, but he'd had no clue about _this_.

"I realized I hadn't, ah, shown you any of these, yet." Stiles muttered, running a hand over his head. "Figured you'd want to, since you've-- Yeah. But I kind of thought today could be an art day? I've got loads of quick food downstairs, for later. And--"

"I love it," Derek huffed, rolling his eyes at the nerves he could feel. "Shut up and show me your stuff."

Stiles snorted and waggled his eyebrows at Derek, hands dropping to his belt. "Well, if you insis--"

"Not--" Derek flushed, eyes riveted anyway. 

A cough behind him made his blood feel like it was curdling. Stiles went as red as Derek felt, eyes snapping over his shoulder and hands dropping to get clasped innocently behind his back. "Oh. Hey, Dad."

"Hi," John sighed, waving when Derek turned around. Then he just--shook his head and went downstairs.

Stiles waited four heartbeats before sighing, pulling his hands up to cover his face with. "I'm cursed."

(He really was. Even as he said it, his dad's pulse kicked up excitedly and Derek could hear the subtle slide of a bakery box being opened. Slowly, stealthily opened.)

"Let's talk about the art," Derek tried, reaching for Stiles' shoulders and turning him toward the big canvas board in the corner. "That. Tell me about that."

He did. And about the sprawl of pages over the desk, and how he felt about the markers and the oil sticks, and color in general. They talked about paper and texture and negative space until Derek's stomach rumbled and Stiles laughed, pulling him downstairs as they realized it wasn't lunch time, it was nearly time for _dinner_.

John was nowhere to be found (and the pastry box was lighter by at least three--not that Derek was going to say anything about that), but they ate in the kitchen anyway. Talked through their schedules for the next week with Stiles wheedling after V-Day and Derek grinning at his frustration. Because that was just who they were.

Who they were was pretty awesome, he thought. Especially when Stiles pulled out another set of markers, washable and hypoallergenic, and held Derek's arm still while he drew a trail of birds from his wrist to just under his sleeve. That was--definitely something he wanted to come back to. Later.

\-----

He felt _amazing_ when he ran home. Content, happy, _rested_ like he'd had a full night of sleep, but not wired. Not hyped up to the point where he wouldn't be able to sleep.

It was fantastic.

It was absolutely what he was blaming for not realizing Laura was gunning for him until she'd tackled him into the backyard.

"You're starting at Alan's," she growled, shoving his shoulders down into the grass as she pushed herself back up. "You're seriously starting on Wednesday? We've barely started talking to people and we only have _two days_ to pull this together, what were you thinking?" Her nose crinkled. "And why do you smell like cheap markers?"

Derek sighed and pushed himself up (to a sitting position, at least. less room to fall if she went after him again). "What are you talking about?"

She frowned, leaning down to poke at his stomach and--no. "You smell like--"

He shoved her hand away. "Stiles and I were using markers, and that's not what I meant."

It took her a moment to refocus, straightening again and narrowing her eyes at him. "I talked to Alan today. He said you asked him to give Stiles something on _Wednesday_ ," she accused, fighting to articulate around half-dropped fangs. "Valentine's Day isn't until Thursday! I haven't talked to everybody yet!"

Derek blinked. "Wednesday's just going to be three stops. He won't be able to get the fourth clue until he's at school, and I already talked to everybody I need to for Wednesday."

She glowered at him for a few breaths before flopping down across from him. "Okay, explain."

"Alan's clue will send Stiles to Fiona's shop," he said, thinking through his puzzle again. "I'm going to run over on my lunch break and drive her car home for her, so she has an excuse to bum a ride off of Stiles. When they get to her place, she'll give him a clue to point to the empty house on Beach Drive. I'm going to leave the shell there, with a clue that he's going to need to go to the school for."

Laura blinked slowly at him. "You don't think he's going to break into the school to keep going?"

He'd thought of that, actually. "Wouldn't do him any good. I told him what time the clue will appear. I figure he'll think Scott's going to deliver it, but I'm going to leave the real clue in his Jeep while he's in class."

"You're evil," Laura nodded appreciatively. "I like it."

"It gets better," Derek offered with a grin. "C'mon, we can go over the map inside and I'll show you the changes. You can start delivering care packages tomorrow when you're off shift. I should have the rest of the clues written out by then."

\-----

He somehow slept through his alarm Monday morning. He wanted to blame the cat, if only because for once he hadn't woken up to a faceful of belly fluff. Didn't have _time_ , woke up to Laura kicking his door. "You've got seven minutes if you want a ride, Derek."

He made it in six, grabbing the first work-appropriate shirt he saw and just giving himself a quick wipe down in the bathroom, dunking his head under the sink to make his hair cooperate enough to gel loosely in place (which would at least make the mess look deliberate. Desperate times, and all) before bolting downstairs. He grabbed breakfast off an unattended plate (still a house rule) and scarfed most of it down while stomping his way into his boots.

(He refused to believe it was Paul's breakfast he'd stolen, no matter what Laura tried to tell him. Even if it was, it was still better than having to run into town with his cardstock in his pack, relying on luck and hope that it wouldn't get bent or creased on the way.)

(He thought.)

Hitching a ride in with his sister when she was on early-bird duty at the garage meant he had an extra hour to prep the shop before Tinge officially opened. After going through the morning rituals, he settled down with all the clues that still needed writing (three of which ended up needing doing twice, because he forgot what order they went in).

Then the door opened, he had to actually pay _attention_ when the phone rang, and what time he wasn't spending crouched over little pieces of card stock was taken up with repetitive questions, nervous fidgeting, and the occasional stretch of skin that actually let him focus on something else.

He didn't realize the time until Laura was suddenly _there_ , leaning over the counter and huffing in irritation. "Do you have stuff for me to take or not?"

It was a different rush, then. Getting Laura loaded up with all the finished clues and directions, and packing up the evidence before Stiles got out of class.

It was worth it.

_Totally_ worth it, when Stiles got in and _Tony_ started laughing at his attempts to find out what Derek was planning.

(And if his pulse skipped when Stiles tried to gravel his way through a frustrated growl, well. That was between the two of them.)

(And Cara, because she had definitely given him a judgmental eyebrow over that.)

\-----

He didn't sleep in on Tuesday or spend his whole day working on clues, but otherwise it was much the same. He didn't remember most of the work he did, except for an owl with alarmingly large eyes (that were probably going to haunt him in his sleep, christ). Just handing off the last of the clues that could be delivered early to Laura, and grinning at the text from Tania confirming her hand off to Scott's mother (Melissa? Probably?), and Stiles trying to steal his phone to read his message history.

Because his mate was a wily and conniving little _brat_.

\-----

"Aren't you done for the night?" Vic bumped her shoulder against his, frowning down at the schedule on Wednesday.

"I had to reschedule one of my appointments tomorrow," he explained sheepishly. "I'm staying late to do that. But if I'd marked it in the schedule--"

"Stiles would have known," Vic agreed, rolling her eyes and bumping against him again. "You're lucky I love you."

Lotus Dragon came in then, though, so she let him go.

His phone went off just before he finished, and Derek tried to tamp down on a grin as it buzzed three times in fast succession. Tucked safely under the register where he couldn't get at it until he was done and his customer gone.

_U suck_   
_EViL_   
_HOw am I sppsd to sleep?!? After THIS_

It buzzed again while he ran home, and Derek nearly ran into a tree when he glanced down to check it.

_< 3 jerk_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tattoo Artist of the Week:** [Koray Karagozler](https://www.facebook.com/DadaArtStudio) of Istanbul, Turkey (also [on Tattrx](http://tattrx.com/artists/koray-karago%CC%88zler)). There's some phenomenal watercolor stuff on there, definitely worth checking out if you like color.
> 
> Chapter next week? Yes! Probably on time even! It's actually half written already. Apparently sticking me on a train for two hours does wonders for my word count. Sadly, not a viable option for regular use.


	81. happy kiss me already

Work was _torture_. Worse than the time one of the sinks developed a slow leak that nobody had been able to fix for days (even then, it wasn't so much 'fix' as Paul developing a twitch by his eye and the sink abruptly changing--everything), only instead of droplets falling it was the ticking hands of the clock out front, counting down second by endless second. He was even more fidgety than the worst of his customers. (Which, to be fair, wasn't even that bad. For his customers, at least. None of them were first-timers, they each had a routine. _He_ was pretty bad, but not when he was inking. Mostly.)

Romance was the order of the day. Lots of impulse consults (lots of _names_ , and just no. Come back next week, or just before their birthday now that you've had the idea), lots of heart marks of various kinds.

Sometimes literal. The first duo tattoo appointment of the day was a less-than-three at the point of the first woman's collarbone where it met her shoulder, and another one tucked into the inner side of her girlfriend's wrist.

"I take it you're doing something special?"

Derek glanced up at the woman he was working on, past her rolled-up jeans to meet smiling eyes deeply marked with laugh lines. "Yeah," he admitted. "It's our first Valentine's Day."

He didn't know _why_ he said that, but it made her grin and nod down at the ankle he was working on. "Thirty-sixth for us," she said, before cutting a fond glance up at her husband. "We met today. Blind date. Guess we never grew out of the grand gestures."

Her husband reached down, squeezed her shoulder affectionately. 

He was already done, the design settled into a space left open at the bottom of a three-quarters sleeve (left open for _years_ , judging by the tone of the ink--she wasn't kidding about grand gestures) with a delicate filigree to frame the edges and bring them together. Otherwise the two tattoos were exactly the same, interlocking rings with 8/8/78 inscribed on the inside.

Derek smiled down at her ankle, going back to work even as he said "I hope we don't either."

No matter how tied up his stomach got.

\-----

Vic shoo'ed him out around 12:30 with her keys, and instructions to bring her some brownies. (Because why eat sensibly when pastries were available?)

The student lot was crammed, a few stragglers circling with creeping intent. He took a gamble and parked in the faculty lot, in one of the spaces set aside for parents and visitors. Right outside the office, of course. (He could hear the typing, if not their heartbeats. Had to just hope nobody was watching, right then. Keeping an eye on him as he walked away from the school, eyes already set on a baby-blue Jeep at the far edge of the student lot.)

He did his best to ignore the curious stares. They didn't matter. Not really. What mattered was that Stiles was stuck in math and probably regretting that he'd ever told Derek what a stickler that teacher was for letting anyone out of her class before the bell rang, judging by the flare of interest then fuchsia frustration sparkling in his head as he crossed the lot.

Finding the Jeep wasn't hard. Wouldn't have been, even if it didn't stand out like a sore thumb in the sea of Corollas and ancient Hondas. Even if he didn't know Stiles' scent almost as well as his mother's.

Getting _into_ the Jeep was a different matter. He'd forgotten that he didn't have a key (because no matter how much time he spent in it, the Jeep still wasn't one of the pack cars. Not yet, anyway), and it was locked.

Derek tested both windows and the panel in the back before giving up and casting a glance up at the sky. It wasn't _likely_ to rain, but--

He did the walk of the unprepared, trodding back to Vic's Volvo and the stash of ziplock baggies he knew she kept in the glove compartment. The clue was just going to have to go under a windshield wiper.

Someone _had_ to be watching him by now. Great.

\-----

The clue looked okay, when he finally got it wrapped away from the elements and tucked in place. He didn't like the thought that someone else could take it, but it'd have to do.

He was back at Tinge by 1:15, food in hand (Vic successfully mugged him for the brownies before he could make her eat a sandwich, cheering when she discovered the only brownies he'd been able to find were swirled with raspberry jam to make hearts on the tops). Just in time for a consult that promised to run a little long, but that was fine. He'd eaten at the sandwich place, he was good to go.

His next appointment (the real one, the fake was at 2) wasn't until nearly 4, which left time for Stiles to try and check in at Tinge for him, instead of following the clues (because he knew his mate--he'd cheat if he could).

It also left him some time to drop off the last few clues. The ones that he couldn't trust to stay put for more than a couple hours.

\-----

He was leaving the grocery store when his phone buzzed. A text from Cara stating simply _You were right. Lover boy sends you fake-angry flailing_. Hadn't even gotten to Vic's car when it buzzed again, twice in quick succession.

Cara, saying _Houston we have prblm_ then Stiles with _Wtf fiona agn? whyyyy_

Derek snorted and texted Peter to let him know they were running behind. Because no, Stiles wasn't supposed to go see Fiona again. He knew what made him think that, though. The pink card he'd left with Cara, _What is it normal people do today? Something to do with flowers, I think._

The next clue was taped up on Tinge's _wall_. It wasn't even hidden, he'd put it smack dab over one of Vic's sunflowers.

The card was _pink_. _All_ of those cards were pink. That whole string of clues was just a joke.

Still. It meant it wasn't safe to go back to Tinge until Stiles had figured that out. 

He had--forty minutes.

Maybe, perhaps, he'd gotten a bit too elaborate with the whole thing.

\-----

_I have a Stiles?_ from Fiona confirmed that Derek had picked the right coffee shop to hide in. Then, as he was waiting for his drink, _I DECORATED A SITLES_. Which-- What?

Sometimes, he feared the people he knew.

_Foud the flower. Brrrright red and wouldnt talk to anybody_ from Cara was followed a moment later by _HATE_ from Stiles.

Derek winced, but started making his way back to Vic's car. It should be safe for him to go back to Tinge, now.

He hoped.

\-----

"He didn't actually feel mad," Vic promised, leaning up against his side and talking softly enough that nobody in the back should be able to hear them. "More irritated at himself for missing the clue, I think."

"I didn't want him to be irritated," Derek muttered into the counter.

Vic dug an elbow into his side, grumbling, "Not a werewolf, here. Speak up a little."

He would have replied, but the phone rang. Derek was technically on desk duty (Vic was technically on a consult--five minutes late and counting) so he sat up to answer it. "Tinge Tattoo Parlor. How--"

"Yeah, uh," a male voice started, hesitated when he realized he'd interrupted, then barreled on. "Sorry. Is Derek there?"

That--sounded suspicious. "He works here," Derek responded carefully. "Is someone trying to find him?"

The snort that came across the line was oddly reassuring. "As if. Laura'd probably ditch her date to shank me if I messed her brother's thing up."

And--what. _Date?_

"No," the guy continued, oblivious to the way he'd just upset Derek's sense of the universe. "I just wanted to let him know that his boyfriend just left. I figured he might wanna know."

"I-- Yeah, no, thanks. That's great. Did you say Laura's on a _date_?"

That got Vic's attention, spine straightening and face turning away from the door. Cara perked up as well. Was muttering something about taking a break to the customer she was working on.

The guy on the other end of the line laughed nervously. "Ohhh, man. I'm gonna end up shanked anyway. Uh-yeah. Bye."

And he hung up. Asshole.

(Though to be fair, if he didn't know his own family, he'd probably be more scared of Laura than a hypothetical brother anyway.)

"Since when is Laura seeing somebody?" Vic hissed, half elated and half freaking out. "Is she okay?"

"The dating would kind of suggest that," Derek tried, still rolling the idea through his head. "Though she might just be using that as an excuse for her coworkers."

"But why would she bother?" Cara asked, voice muffled as she bent down next to the water cooler in the back corner.

"Like she'd bother?" Vic asked, then rolled her eyes as Derek snickered. (Cara did too, but Vic couldn't know that. Could feel the sharp amusement rolling off her mate, but couldn't hear the laughter.) "Seriously, though."

"I don't know," he admitted when he got control of his breath again. "Think your appointment's here, though."

And she was. Dark curls swaying wildly as she skidded to a stop in front of the store, bursting through the door with a rushed "Oh my gosh, I am _so_ sorry."

Vic waved the apologies off, still looking a little shocked as she made her way over to the consultation counter. 

It was a day for the unexpected, apparently.

Which-- Derek blinked and mentally traced out the route he'd left for Stiles. The garage _was_ one of the real clues, not part of the red herring option. So Stiles was--following both? Or had abandoned the pink cards as pointless.

But the garage was the fourth stop on the white trail. That was--a lot faster than he'd expected.

_Nvmnd i hav No Idea when well be there_ he typed out for his uncle. Glared at his phone when Peter just sent _LOL_ back.

\-----

He didn't get any more updates. Didn't really expect them; he hadn't asked for them, and most of the people helping out didn't know Derek that well (or at all-- _Laura_ might be getting more updates than he was).

Didn't need them, as it turned out. It was just short of five when he felt Stiles approaching, a roiling knot of agitation, interest and cautious hope that started unfurling into excitement and triumph as the bond stabilized.

Derek went to fetch his bag from the back. "You about done, Tony? I'm heading out soon."

"Finally," Tony snarked, not looking up from arranging the setup for his next appointment. "Got another update?"

Cara and Vic both laughed while Derek grinned and shrugged, enjoying Tony's narrow eyed squint. "Something like that."

"I hate you all," Tony announced, flapping a hand in Derek's direction. "Out of my sight. I'll be up to cover phones in a sec."

Derek rolled his eyes but continued on to the back. Took a moment to strip out of his t-shirt and pull on the button up he'd left hanging. (The slacks survived a day playing with ink just fine, but the shirt would've been just _asking_ for trouble. It was new. Ish. He had four of them now, in a short spread of blue through teal, and he suspected Niq might have more than _words_ to share with him if he'd ruined one of them the first time he wore it out.) Tucked everything in and headed for the front desk again, waving his goodbyes as he went.

He'd just pushed the stool out of his way and gotten settled behind the counter again when--flowers walked past the front windows.

What was it Fiona had said? She'd decorated a Stiles?

He was fumbling for his phone before he had time to think that through.

Stiles walked in, head crowned in a wreath of pink petals and leaves, grinning until he saw the phone in Derek's hands. Scowled just in time for Derek to snap the picture.

"Really? This indignity needs to be preserved?"

"Yup," Derek confirmed. Honestly, he was tempted to take another picture. He hadn't gotten the full effect in the first one.

Because Stiles looked-- _good_. Up to a point. His last clue for Wednesday had suggested dressing up, but still. Nice shoes, dress slacks, button up, vest, pink flowery-thing leaking petals over his shoulders, and--shopping bags.

He looked more than a little ridiculous with the bags, and Derek tried not to grin at the thought. Settled for taking another photo to get the shopping bags more fully in the frame.

Stiles huffed like he was irritated, but just felt--fond. "I understand now why Fiona insisted on giving me so much for gas money last night," he grumbled, walking over to deposit his bags on the counter. "These are heavy, by the way. I'm making _you_ carry them back to the Jeep. Assuming that's where we're going."

"Yeah," Derek said, but he was more focused on the bags. On the scent of Laura, and thrift-store, and Derek, and-- "You kept all the clues?"

"What did you think I was going to do with them?" Stiles asked, face contorting in confusion. "Just leave them with random people all over town? Hell no. All of this is mine now."

He could hear Cara snickering in the back and blushed. "I--didn't think about that."

And there was the fond again, and the apples. "I'm shocked. This was cute, by the way," he snarked, fishing an envelope out of one of the bags. A flash of red showed through as Stiles waved it vaguely in his face. It was enough for Derek to know exactly which card that was: the little painting of a skinny red fish he'd left next to the seafood case in the grocery store. He grinned.

"I can't believe you followed the red herrings that far."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Yeah. I got that. But they were _there_ , of _course_ I was going to find them. Now c'mon. Carry this stuff back to the Jeep for me and explain the rest of your devious plan." 

He didn't give Derek time to do either, leaning around the wall to wave into the back. "Hi _again_. Bye _again_. Thanks for nothing!"

"You're welcome!" Cara and Vic chorused back in alarming harmony.

Derek slipped his own bag over a shoulder, grabbed the handles of both bags up in one hand, and reached out to pull Stiles toward the door with the other. "Come on. Devious plan, remember?"

"Right, right," Stiles muttered, finally turning away from his narrow eyed glare at the back. "So?"

"So?" Derek quipped back, smirking. "There's one more clue."

Stiles made a wordless noise of frustration in the back of his throat, scent picking up pepper and spices as his impression through the bond shifted, expanding and twisting and--

Derek could _feel_ the moment Stiles put it together. It was the only reason he didn't jump when Stiles' hand brushed purposefully over his ass, one side to the other and maybe, possibly, sliding down a little further than it really needed to before slipping the last piece of cardstock out of his back pocket.

"You're the worst," Stiles complained, but it lacked conviction. Probably because he was smirking almost as hard as he was blushing, even as he unlocked the Jeep.

"No I'm not," Derek countered, smug. "You've met my family."

Stiles laughed, but it felt like agreement.

Derek tucked the bags into what passed for a back seat in the Jeep while Stiles tested the card to see if it would open, turning it until the text was the right side up. "O-kay. A bunny-cutout and an address," he said, squinting at Derek and fanning himself with the card. "Peter's restaurant?"

"Yeah," Derek admitted, taking the card and tucking it into the bag with the rest of the white cards. "We've got reservations."

"Hmm. I thought that was a more casual place," Stiles said, finally pulling away and slipping around to the driver's side. 

"It is," he confirmed, _not_ blushing. At all. There was no reason to blush. He was just--getting into a car. "I just--"

"Wanted to see me dressed up?" Stiles asked with a sly grin as he started the Jeep.

Close enough. Derek shrugged. "And I remembered your reaction, last time I did."

"You do look really good," Stiles agreed, eyes slipping his way before snapping back to the road and traffic. "Uh, so. Where am I going?"

\-----

Despite the relatively early hour, Lapin Grillé was mostly full by the time they got there. It wasn't a surprise: Peter's streak of evil romanticism paired well with big holidays like New Year's and Valentine's Day, and Lapin Grillé always changed some of the decorations to suit. This time it was the wall sconces (probably a better choice than the year Peter had tried out blood-red tablecloths and didn't think to give them more than a cursory rinse and dry, first. He'd complained about the wait staff having pink smudges on their whites for days), swapping out the frosted white shades for translucent red. White tablecloths went ivory, creamy napkins and _Reserved For:_ signs blushed a pale pink, and the weathered wood floor picked up a burnished richness it didn't deserve, but liked anyway. The light liked the people too, softening edges and deepening shadows.

The place settings were all still a deliberate mis-match, though. There were still patrons in jeans or loose cardigans. The bustle from the kitchen still spilled out into the dining area with a flash of too much light when a waitress slipped through the door in back.

Nice, but not too nice, and he could feel Stiles relaxing next to him as they waited for the host to make her way back to the podium.

And of _course_ it was one of Laura's crowd, giving them a wide smirk that felt like it should have been full of teeth and winking as she stepped up. "Stilinski-Hale? Right this way."

_Derek_ could hear his uncle grumbling to himself in the kitchen, muttering that the reservation was listed as Hale-Stilinski, but the host--shouldn't have been able to. She still walked away with a pointed swing to her hips, like she was flicking a nonexistent tail in smug amusement.

Peter swore up and down that everyone at the restaurant was human, though. So--

Stiles leaned into his arm, whispering, "Is it just me or is she kinda creepy?"

Derek grunted agreement but didn't give it any other thought. Hopefully they wouldn't have to deal with her again anyway.

She showed them to one of the smaller tables, tucked up in a front corner, away from the kitchen. Pulled a chair out and grinned when Derek took it, feeling a simmering unease from Stiles at the gesture.

"Your waiter this evening will be Carlos," she announced, once they were both settled. "The chef has already selected your meal this evening. Enjoy."

She gave them another unsettling smirk and sauntered back to her podium.

"I'll bet she's Peter's favorite," Stiles muttered, staring after her. "She does that same thing he does. Being kind of creepy and inappropriate without ever actually _being_ creepy and inappropriate."

There was a flash of indignation from the kitchen, and Stiles bit his lip, glancing at Derek with an impish smile. "Uh. Oops."

Derek shrugged, too amused to care. "I dunno. Sounded pretty accurate to me."

"I have the ability to ruin your meal, nephew," Peter muttered from the kitchen, sulking enough that Derek could feel it. "Just remember that."

Stiles reached across the table before Derek could think of responding, directly or otherwise. "Hey. This is our date, right?" he asked, grinning. "Focus, Dorkus."

"That doesn't make any sense," Derek grumbled. But then Carlos was there, with a salad laid out on a narrow plate that he settled between them and two glasses of something pink and fizzy and sweet smelling.

Soda glasses, not wine glasses. He couldn't smell--well, two tables over had martini glasses that smelled of tart cherries and grappa, and somebody had spilled wine nearby earlier in the day, but nothing at their table. (That would have been _awkward_ , if Peter had forgotten.)

"A winter salad to share, with grilled pears, candied walnuts, and an assortment of local hardy greens, and two Blooming Romances, a blend of cherry and rose syrups in soda."

"Are you going to explain everything as you bring it out?" Stiles asked, eying his soda warily. "'Cause that might be helpful."

That got a grin and a shrug out of Carlos. "We usually do, when Peter decides someone doesn't need a menu. Is there anything else I can get you?"

"Extra plates?"

Carlos snorted, shaking his head. "Kind of ruins the point, sorry." He shrugged again and walked away, picking up empty plates from another couple's table as he walked away.

"We're going to be sharing a plate all night, aren't we," Stiles sighed.

Yeah, probably.

Dinner was good, though. No heavy sauces or constructions that wanted to fall apart when they were picked up. They had plenty of silverware, because Carlos kept bringing them new forks and stealing the old ones with the plates. (Derek felt sorry for whoever was on dishwashing duty.) The food was mostly simple, too, nothing incredibly challenging or unfamiliar. It made it easier to focus on the taste, on each other, even if they didn't have a sketchbook to pass back and forth, or separate plates to steal off of.

It didn't take them very long to realize that they could scoot their chairs closer together and eat arm to arm to make things easier. It meant Stiles did whatever cutting needed doing, so Derek could just wield his fork left handed, but that was fine. That just meant he could keep his right arm curled around Stiles.

There were other advantages. Derek could turn his head to whisper into Stiles' ear and watch the way it made him shiver. Stiles could let his left hand wander over Derek's thigh.

Derek was able to thump Stiles on the back when he started choking on a piece of (appropriately enough) grilled rabbit as Allison and Scott walked in, wide eyed and leaning into each other even more than normal.

(He was willing to bet his own requests weren't the only messages Tania passed along to Scott, via his mother. Peter was such a sneak.)

It was good, though. Awkward waving and blushing aside, and that moment where Allison looked at the table she and Scott were given (much closer to the kitchen-- _subtle_ Peter) then over at Stiles and Derek, and promptly moved her chair over to bump up against Scott, and Stiles snorted so loud the entire restaurant turned to look at them.

Aside from that, it was great.

And he was _never_ eating at his uncle's restaurant again. Christ.

(But then Peter followed everything up with a plate of fruit and a bowl of thick chocolate, still warm and just gooey enough for dipping, and watching slices of apples and pears disappear into Stiles' mouth, leaving tempting smears of fudge in their wake, was the _best_ kind of torture.)

\-----

Stiles turned the Jeep off when he drove Derek home, but neither of them made any move to get out.

"That was fun," Stiles said finally, grinning down at the steering wheel. "Even the irritating and embarrassing parts."

"I thought you'd like having to figure something out," Derek explained, even though he probably didn't need to. "I didn't mean for it to be irritating at all."

Stiles shrugged, undoing his seatbelt and twisting around in his seat to face Derek in the dark. "A lot of things I like irritate me. It's a thing."

"Like me?"

"Sometimes," Stiles muttered, smiling too softly for it to feel like an insult. "But like I said. That's not a bad thing."

"Happy Valentine's Day."

"Happy kiss me already, you jerk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tattoo Artist of the Week:** [Ondrash](http://www.ondrash.com/) in the Czech Republic (also on [Tattrx](http://tattrx.tumblr.com/tagged/ondrash)).
> 
> Short notes and early posting today, as I'm currently in another country visiting friends and want to make sure this is up before I leave to head home, just in case.
> 
> <3 Hope y'all had a good weekend.


	82. You're not working today

Friday morning was one long reminder about what it meant to be a Hale. (To wit: a horrible sense of humor, _no_ sense of boundaries among family, lots of smirking, and talkative eyebrows.) 

_Jacob_ asked if Stiles was a good kisser, though that was probably their mother's fault. (At the least, she knew who's fault it was, or she wouldn't have had to put her face down on the table while she laughed, like that.)

It wasn't just Derek, at least. Everyone kept asking Tania if she was still happy Peter had an outlet other than her to take his romanticism out on (she was; Peter sulked), if Maria and David had managed to claim the entire preserve yet (his mother just grinned, sharp toothed, and said they were still working on it).

No one was bugging Laura, though. She was free to ask as many inappropriate questions as she wanted, grinning at the rest of them over her tea. The closest anyone came to asking what she'd been up to was what her plans for the day were. 

As far as their family was concerned, Laura was celebrating V-Day by heading into town to buy tons of chocolate on day-after sale, then calling Danielle to tease _her_ too. Because being a six hour drive away didn't mean you got left out of family traditions. And the razzing over a first V-Day with someone _was_ a tradition.

But no one was paying attention to Laura.

Except him. And he was apparently failing at subtle, because she caught his eyes and glared briefly before lighting up with a grin. "Want a ride to work, bro? Ease your weary feet after running away from Stiles all day?"

"That's not--" he protested, but cut himself off with a sigh, standing up from the table. "Yeah, actually. That'd be good."

Laura ran upstairs, chortling to herself about mad money (because his sister was secretly a squirrel, and would stash anything if it didn't move), while Derek changed out of his running pants into his work pants for the ride. Packed up his clothes for after work and got into his boots.

He went ahead and left the house, maneuvering his way around the cats and making his way to Laura's car. Wasn't even halfway there before Laura was sailing past him, a laughing rocket of energy. "C'mon, slowpoke!"

"Because _I_ was the one who ran off, cackling like a fiend," he mock-grumbled. Didn't hurry. Even when Laura started bouncing from foot to foot next to her car.

He didn't have to worry about having something to talk about, while they got out of hearing range of the family. Laura launched into interrogating him about what Stiles had thought of the puzzle, step by step, as soon as they were both finally inside and belted in place.

Eventually though, the sense of pack weakened and even the tie to their father went soft at the edges.

"Hey," Derek interrupted, pointing up ahead to a wider section of road. "Pull off over there for a minute, would you?"

Laura growled, low and plaintive, but pulled over onto the side of the road and killed the engine. "Okay, so there _is_ something up. What's--"

"Did you have a date yesterday?"

He didn't really need an answer. Not with the way her heart rate shot up and her scent went lemony. "I-- It's not--"

Derek didn't wait for her to figure out words. Unhooked his belt and leaned over to press his face against her neck, rumbling comfort at her until she relaxed and smashed her cheek against his temple. Waited until her scent had mellowed out before he pulled away.

"I don't want Mom and Dad to know," she admitted, pushing the heel of her hand at one of her eyes, as though that would disguise the fact that she'd teared up. "It's not anything _bad_ , it's just-- We're kinda friends, and he wants to try being more," which explained why he hadn't caught any new scents "and I said sure, so it's just-- They'd make a big deal out of it and I don't _want_ it to be a big deal, and--"

Derek ducked in again to thunk his head against her shoulder. "As the one of us who has a Stiles," he started, just to make her laugh, "I get it. Just-- Talk to me? Or Vic and Cara. They overheard, so they know. But I'll let them know not to bring it up with the pack."

"I don't wanna talk about it," Laura whined, while Derek smacked his hand against the spot his seatbelt _should_ have been, then barked his knuckles on the tilt lever when he pushed down and back to where it actually _was_ (because of course Laura's car stashed its seat belts--like owner, like vehicle). "That makes it more real-ish."

If she got attached and her 'friend' did something stupid, it'd be real enough. Real enough to cut if nobody knew why she was broken.

"A safety net does not mean it's more likely you'll fall," he pointed out instead. Coughed an interrupting growl before she could disagree. "And I don't care about whatever weird thing you know about that. It's inspirational wisdom, so shut up and drive."

Laura laughed again, short and amused. "Now _that's_ the kind of inspirational wisdom I like."

\-----

"Good news," Stiles chirped as he bounced into Tinge Saturday afternoon, leaning against the consultation counter with a grin, checking the back for listening ears with a habitual glance easy enough to be ignored. "Deaton found me a tutor down in Long Beach. She does watercolor divination. How cool is that?"

At the register, Tony groaned and let his head thump against the wall. "Not you too."

\-----

Derek won the rock paper scissors over who got to plan their date for the 17th. (And there were no werewolfy shenanigans involved in that win, no matter what Stiles said. Or what that even meant.) 

He borrowed Paul's pickup truck again. Cleared out the bed. _Cleaned_ it out (he never wanted to find out what that weird, green, sticky stain was) and wrestled the canopy on. Built a decent little nest for two in the truck bed, stealing spare blankets and pillows and the couch-back cushions that always wound up on the floor.

Then he locked the canopy latch and the gate and drove over to Stiles'. Spent most of the day learning (or rather trying, and failing miserably, to learn) how to play first person shooters while they talked about the summer. The fall. Moving.

When the light in the windows shaded softer, giving the floor an anemic gold tint, he lured Stiles out to the truck (tossing down the controller and saying it was time for The Plan totally counted as luring) and drove to the edge of town.

Stiles broke down giggling while Derek paid for the tickets at the drive-in, gasping things about zombies and fishnets and tinfoil through his laughter as Derek solemnly accepted the radio setup for the Creature Feature Revival.

Parking so the nest was facing the screen was easy enough. They were early, so there were plenty of spaces to choose from (probably still would be, later), and part of learning to drive as a Hale involved way too much experience trying to back up or parallel park when someone was blocking any possible useful view.

(Stiles' face when Derek unlocked the back to reveal the nest-to-be was _amazing_.)

They went on a quest for snacks, because Stiles didn't believe in movies without food. That somehow turned into a mountain of Necessary Supplies (and a box of Whoppers, which he grabbed just for Derek, and that did _not_ make his stomach clench and his brain flutter full of soft, lovely shadows. It didn't).

Climbing into the nest, mountain or no, was easy enough. _Settling_ was a different matter. Trying to find a comfortable position that wouldn't result in seismic snack shift (dammit Stiles) or threaten to topple the sodas was--easy. If they didn't need to see the screen. Managing comfort, food integrity, _and_ screen visibility was just too much, apparently. At least until Derek gave up and hauled Stiles into his lap with a growl. But still. It counted.

(And worth it, despite Stiles' grumbling. _So_ worth it for being able to feel it when Stiles choked on his popcorn at the Wolfman's first furry appearance. For the moment during the credits when Stiles dropped his head back against Derek's shoulder and howled softly, just for him.)

\-----

Monday started pretty typical (or what had been typical, before the holidays). He woke up with Pitch cuddled up to one of his ears. Showered before most of the family was up and went down to start on breakfast.

Gathered his things together, ran to work, started his normal opening routine.

The back door opened ten minutes later, Tony leaning into the main work area to squint blearily at Derek over his coffee. "Dude. You're not working today."

And--right. He had two days off per week again. He remembered that. 

Sort of.

Derek glanced down at the supply drawer he was restocking and shrugged. He might as well finish before he left.

(The map from Valentine's Day was still tacked up over his schedule, for the _previous_ week, when he got home. Which--explained a few things.)

\-----

He wasn't the only one, at least. Stiles showed up at the house around 3:30, still a little red around the edges and carrying the rubber-ink-cleaner scent of Tinge.

"Don't even start," he huffed, glaring. "Tony said you did the same thing this morning."

\-----

"Apparently our idea of dating is weird," Stiles offered randomly later, sprawled over Derek's bed and waving a feather wand for Pitch and Patch.

He'd be irritated by that, if he hadn't already been hearing that from all sides. (And if he wasn't curled up against Stiles' side, face pressed into the curve below his arm.) "Says who?" 

"Scott," Stiles started, huffing a laugh as a soft skittering thump suggested one of the cats had taken a tumble. "Allison. Tony. Vic. Cara just thinks we're cute."

"What about your dad?"

"Dude," Stiles twisted and the fluffy tip of the feathered wand rapped against Derek's skull. "I try _not_ to think about that, thanks." One of the cats (Pitch, he thought--smelled more familiar than Patch) jumped up on the bed next to his head, then down again as Stiles went back to scuffling the wand over the carpet. "Though he does want you to come by for dinner again, soon."

"Sure," Derek slurred. "Just say when."

(And he might have, but apparently sleeping dates could happen unintentionally. Date day or not.)

\-----

Thursdays were still best for dinner. Derek begged off a few hours early, since he didn't have anything scheduled anyway. Left with Stiles when he showed up after school.

They hit up a grocery store on the way, and Derek tried not to think about how similar it was to shopping with Matt, all sudden bursts of interest then random things being snuck (badly) into the cart. (Stiles' tastes were just as weird as Matt's too. Sure, there were chips and sodas and candy, but he also went after a can of bamboo shoots, some cream-top yogurt, and a grease-separator.)

There were only a few extras in the bags when they left, which Derek was counting as a win. The gummy worms were worth it anyway, for the way they gave Stiles something to fiddle with as Derek walked him through Peter's method for shepherd's pie. They used chicken, not rabbit or venison, but that just meant they needed a little extra oomph in the gravy.

By the time John came home, the pie was keeping warm in the oven and the kale for the salad had already been sliced into thin ribbons and mixed in with the other salad greens. 

It didn't help. John gave them a sad look and waved a sliver of kale in Stiles' direction, but he ate it anyway, so Derek was willing to count it as another win.

(One of the deputies was getting married soon. Which--he wouldn't have cared, except it meant John was working earlier shifts than normal for a while. So he'd be able to come to the house for the full moon. Seemed _pleased_ that he'd be able to join them. And that--that was so a win. The best win.)

(It almost made up for Stiles winning the toss up for planning the next date. Almost. He did at least promise not to branch out too far from their normal brand of weird, even if he did roll his eyes.)

\-----

There was a lovely stretch of hip under his hands when Stiles stopped by Tinge on Friday. A complex hound-and-hare celtic knot design that he'd been itching to see alive on flesh, not stuck on paper. (He hadn't done the art for it himself, but the artist Hound-and-Hare had commissioned did good work. The hares were over the more flexible waist and stomach, and would flow nicely when she moved.

Hound-and-Hare tensed up whenever the door rang, though, so he didn't think she'd be okay with him inviting Stiles back. Wanted to pout when the bond flushed with fond apology and his sense of Stiles faded, just leaving the traces of his scent.

"Stiles left this for you," Tony offered, once Derek had finished waving Hound-and-Hare out.

The envelope in his hand wasn't quite like one of his own clues from Valentine's, but it made him wary regardless. (He was _not_ a puzzle person, really. But he'd play along if Stiles went to that kind of trouble.)

It wasn't a clue, though. Or rather--not one he had to do anything with.

There wasn't anything inside the envelope. Pulling up the flap unfolded it, and it opened into a tiny drawing. Trees sketched in as impressions of texture and shape along the edges, then darker shapes to give a patch of firelight something to strike against. A campsite, from the look of it. With _6 p.m. Saturday_ written under it, bold and underlined.

Tony whistled low and reached over to take the page from him. "Man, he's improving fast. Can I?"

"Yeah."

Camping? He couldn't be serious.

\-----

Stiles was there to pick him up right at 6, though. There was a cooler and two sleeping bags and the Jeep smelled like--camping things. Foam, plastic, dust, traces of smoke and grease and family.

Derek twisted around in his seat to poke at the stuff in the back until Stiles started hitting his shoulder lightly with an irritable mutter of "Sit down and strap in."

"I thought you were joking," he admitted, prodding at the sleeping bags one last time before settling down and pulling his seat belt into place.

Stiles snorted, but the bond was such a mess of amusement and glee that Derek couldn't read anything more detailed out of it. "Do I look like somebody who jokes about camping?"

"It's February," Derek protested. "It's going to be freezing tonight."

Which wouldn't bother him, but Stiles was more susceptible to the cold. Didn't like it, except as an excuse to cuddle. Which--

Derek could find excuses to cuddle that weren't so convoluted.

"Forty isn't freezing," Stiles huffed, eyes narrowing even as they flicked away from him to check on traffic. "Plus, this is coming from the werewolf who took me on a picnic in October. Just trust me, okay?"

"Not fair," Derek sighed, but settled down for the ride.

(Reached over to thwap Stiles' shoulder when he pulled into the Stilinski driveway, and the eager-mischief finally started taking over his bond presence. Because Derek's mate was a twerp.)

\-----

They did go camping.

Sort of.

Stiles had pushed the living room furniture back (vacuumed too, from the smell of it--Derek didn't want to guess what he'd found under the chairs to prompt that) to make room for the tent Stiles had already put up. He'd found a recording of a campfire video somewhere and his laptop was settled right outside the tent, happily playing it under what looked like a chat notification that had popped up in one corner.

They had to bring in the sleeping bags and cooler (which--why. There was a fridge inside), but the rest of the camp-gear smell had just been the bags the tent and air mattress had been in.

"You-- Why are we camping inside?" Derek asked, while Stiles hauled the sleeping bags over to the tent.

Stiles set one of the bags down and started wrestling with the tie keeping the other one shut. "Well. You said to stick with our kind of weird, and I figured between the scavenger hunt and the picnic in October, this counted." He grunted, glaring down at the knot and--going about undoing it all wrong. "You can just put that down--yeah, there works."

Derek left the cooler just next to the tent door, there were no animals to attract here anyway, and stepped around Stiles to take the sleeping bag from him.

"Hey," Stiles yelped as Derek's claws came out. "No cutting!"

That-- Derek hesitated, glancing up at Stiles and blinking at the honest fear spiking along the bond. "I won't cut anything. I promise."

Stiles settled down after that, but watched his hands like a hawk. It was--distracting, honestly. Hard to concentrate on picking the laces apart without snagging them, or fraying any threads. But really, knots like that were practically impossible to pull apart without claws. Derek didn't know how humans with blunt nails managed.

The knot eventually came loose, the bag slithered out of its coil, and Stiles finally relaxed for real. Took the bag away from him and crawled into the tent, shoving the other bag out and--apparently forgetting he was balancing on an air mattress, falling over, and nearly knocking the entire tent onto its side in the process.

Too stunned to do more than stare, Derek watched the tent rock, quiver, then settle back--mostly into place.

"I'm okay!" Stiles reassured him a moment later, voice muffled. "Covered in blankets, but totally okay!"

\--right.

\-----

Dinner came out of the cooler. Sandwich makings (including potato salad, which Stiles handed him with a face that mocked him for what he was about to do with it), hot dogs that had to have been cooked over a grill (cold, yes, but blackened and blistered just a little, like a campfire hot dog _should_ be), a caesar salad that smelled like Stiles had bribed someone at the grill to supply him with their dressing, and--

"Did you seriously make s'mores brownies?" Derek stared down at the mostly-clear tupperware hiding in the bottom of the cooler. It smelled temptingly of marshmallow, if nothing else.

"Awesome idea, right?" Stiles grinned, grabbing another handful of Doritos. "Blame the internet if they suck."

They didn't suck, and Stiles tasted even better with traces of marshmallow and chocolate lingering on his tongue. With pride and delight making him pulse vibrant and overwhelming through the bond.

And the tent was the _best_ idea, because it kept them out of sight when John came home. When they discovered that--hey, chocolate smears, and suddenly it was very, very obvious where their hands had been.

"Hmm. What are these?" John asked, sniffing appreciatively and heading straight for the coffee table. Straight for the brownies.

"Bad for you," Stiles grumbled, trying to wipe his face off with one of his hands which--it hadn't even been that dirty, really. Not before he started, anyway. "You can have _one, normal sized_ piece."

There was an answering mutter from John but no commentary about the tent. He grabbed a hot dog as well as a brownie which was--probably not anywhere near what Stiles would consider 'normal sized'. Derek wasn't going to rat him out, though. That would involve more talking, and possibly eye contact.

Stiles looked suspicious, felt suspicious, so Derek grabbed one of his hands to clean his fingers off more thoroughly. (Friction would have done it, but using his teeth was much more satisfying. And distracting.)

\-----

He slept well, considering. 

The air mattress was big enough, but they kept sliding in toward one another in the middle, occupying less space than either of their actual beds. That would have been fine, maybe even great, if they could just get _comfortable_ instead of wedged together and squirming around inside the confines of the sleeping bags.

As it was, they kept adjusting each other out of comfortable positions until Derek gave up, growled, and freed an arm from his bag to hook around Stiles and haul him in. (They still squiggled around a bit until they were comfortable, but they _found_ comfortable that way, at least.)

Still. He could think of better ways to wake up than John tapping on one of the tent poles, saying "Remember to pack up your campsite, boys. I'm making french toast, if you're interested."

(Especially since that resulted in a flailing, protesting Stiles who elbowed him in the arm in his attempt to get out of the tent and stop his father from making a delicious but decidedly not heart-healthy breakfast. Which--Derek could understand, but still. French toast sounded really good.)

\-----

John had to leave right after breakfast, dropping a kiss on top of Stiles' protesting head and--almost doing the same to Derek before pulling himself back and settling for a clap on the shoulder instead. He didn't ask Derek to leave, though. Didn't smell nervous or seem tense over leaving them alone for the day.

Actual date-day was just--lazy. And perfect.

They messed around with video games after breakfast, Stiles still bemused by Derek's absolute failure at first person _anything_ , it turned out, not just first person shooters. Took down the tent, finally, and packed it all up. Drew for a few hours (weird, looping geometrics on one page, the new adventures of spikysaur and lovebird on another, a random offshoot into drawing foxes in different styles on a third, for some reason), then napped for awhile. Made out on Stiles' bed, hands roaming under shirts and--

He hadn't _meant_ to tickle Stiles, it had just happened.

(He was pretty sure Stiles hadn't _meant_ to kick him off the bed either, but he wasn't entirely sure.)

They ate the rest of the sandwiches and watched a few movies, ricocheting back and forth between 'classic' (at least by the scale Stiles used) and 'horrible' for no reason Derek could see. (But it meant sitting curled around Stiles, a sketchbook in their shared lap, with his mate radiating warm spice and apples and contentment. It was hard to mind that.)

Then John came home, and Stiles drove him home after dinner. Promised they'd both be at the house the next evening.

And he left. And Derek tried to figure out which was worse, that night--the fact that his bed was cold, or Stiles' utter inability to keep still, even in sleep.

(The cold won by a huge margin, but making himself think about something so easy helped him sleep. So did the familiarity of Pitch's light feet landing on the bed, tapping their way up along his side and the tiny purr that curled up partly over his forehead.)

\-----

Full moon day was the usual haze of helping. Helping cook, helping run the terrors into exhaustion, helping run _Cara_ into exhaustion (and Tania, when it turned out she needed it), helping with the baby juggling that inevitably happened when their parents needed to run (or--couldn't).

Helping to fetch a couple of cats who'd gotten outside somehow, in all the coming and going. The first one was easy, one of the Scritch-Scratches, crouched on the lawn and staring up at the sky in what looked like the cat version of agoraphobic horror. The other--

Well. The other one was Patch. They eventually found her, forty feet back in the woods and halfway up a tree that smelled like panicked squirrel, mewling sadly. (His mother praised her daring, because of course she did.)

He helped until he needed to fall over, then he did. Then Stiles showed up, and everything was perfect.

"I am never getting over this," he remembered John muttering, somewhere up and back and not close enough to the pack for Derek's comfort.

"Yup," Stiles agreed cheerfully, and--there were fingers in his hair after that, so he wasn't entirely certain if Stiles had actually manipulated his dad into fetching him a sandwich. But he thought that had happened. 

It seemed plausible.

The rest of the night was harder, trying to separate what was real from what might have been a dream.

He did remember that Stiles howled with them, before the evening run, the bond between them singing with elation and belonging. He wasn't so sure about the moment John had taken a half-step forward when the humans joining the rest of them started to run, like he might have wanted to join them.

He'd have to ask about Cara picking Stiles up and laughing against his throat, then dropping him a little too hard in her haste to scramble away from Derek. Wasn't sure he _could_ ask about Laura running a little further than anyone else, but always coming back.

It was a good night, even if he woke up tangled with Laura and Cara and his parents, instead of Stiles.

(Stupid weeknights.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tattoo Artist of the Week:** [Victor Webster](http://instagram.com/victorjwebstertattoo) who--looks to be travelling? East River Tattoo in Brooklyn now through October, Two Hands Tattoo in Auckland November and December. The artist has a [tumblr](http://victortattoo.tumblr.com/) and can also be found on [Tattrx](http://tattrx.com/artists/victor-j-webster).
> 
> Recipe: More of a general guideline. S'mores brownies? Super easy. Graham cracker crust, top with brownie batter, cook as specified for your batter and check to make sure it's cooked through. Top whole thing with marshmallows (mini, regular, jumbo, whole or cut up--does not really matter). Stick back in the oven, turned off is fine so long as it's still warm, and wait for the marshmallows to puff up. Make sure they're a good distance from your broiler, then broil for 1-2 minutes to get toasty, checking like a manic weasel to make sure they don't burn (unless you like that). Let cool, but cut while warm. They're best warm, I think, but also great reheated for ten to thirty seconds (depending on how cold they are, and your microwave).
> 
> I'm making no judgements about using box mix and store bought graham cracker crusts versus making your own. The only caution I have is that store bought crusts are generally pie shaped, and box mixes are designed to fill roughly two pies. So, y'know, if you go with store bought, you're gonna have extra brownie. (The horror.)
> 
> (Also? If you make your own graham cracker crust, or just have graham crackers around generally, you can arrange to have chunks of graham cracker that you can layer under the marshmallows, or mix in with the brownie.)
> 
> Bonus fact? I actually can't stand marshmallows. I pretty much only eat them in cocoa, s'mores, and now this.


	83. Chapter 83

It wasn't that time stood still, or even flew by. It was just--not as important. Didn't really register.

They went on another double date with Allison and Scott (miniature golf, somehow even worse than first person shooters). Had another napping-and-video-games date to let Stiles recover from a hell week.

Yuriko dropped by to look at the concepts he'd put together, and bounced all over the place in excitement before settling down to talk design. Cara broke one of her guns at work, gripping too hard while she was cleaning. Gwen had an almost normal tantrum; no fangs or claws, just--screaming. For almost an hour.

Patch started going on walks with Maria. Derek had no idea how that worked, but he wasn't alone in that, at least. Everyone except Paul and David seemed baffled by it. (Well, and the kids. And the babies. The kids weren't baffled by anything, and the babies were usually baffled by everything.)

It was still a surprise, somehow, when Cara was flipping ahead in the schedule and chirped, "Oh wow, I can't believe it's just a month."

"What?" Derek asked, not looking up from his sketch. (Tire treads. _Specific_ treads, off the customer's first dirt bike, that were supposed to wrap around his arm into a skid over the shoulder and down the back, skirting the scars there. But mostly, it was really a lot of math, and fudging, and enough wasted paper that he could probably _hide_ in it.)

Tony scoffed from the wash station behind the register wall even as Cara laughed. "Oh my _god_ Derek. Stiles' _appointment_. His birthday. The day on which your lovebird becomes _legal_."

"Hey, first appointment," Tony corrected, even as Derek tried to smooth his paper back out. (He didn't remember it crumpling. Didn't--) "He's seeing you for the design Vic and I did, isn't he?" he distantly heard Tony say.

"Yeah, in May," Cara responded, but it sounded distracted. Her scent had gone metal-tinged again, mild alarm flaring across the bond. "Derek? You okay?"

His "Yeah, I'm fine," sounded like it came from a distance. Like someone else was talking.

And he wasn't, but-- That was the right response, wasn't it? The one people were supposed to give. The one people brought out when they didn't know what was wrong. Couldn't put words to it. Couldn't--

"I think you broke your cousin," Tony said, suddenly much closer. Too close.

"Yeah. Hey, Der? C'mon, look up."

Cara was too close too, but that was okay. She was family. Family didn't understand boundaries.

He looked up. Stared at Cara across the consultation counter. Took in the worried pinch of her brow, the tension around her mouth, the faint hint of gold in her eyes.

"I'll be fine," he told her. "I just--hadn't. Been thinking. About that. I--"

She was already nodding, though. "Yeah. Go. I'll call any appointments you've got. You gonna wait for your ride? He'll be here soon."

Stiles. She meant-- 

He shook his head without giving himself a chance to think about it. Pushed back from the counter and put his files and supplies away by rote. Disappeared into the bathroom to change into his running stuff.

"What the hell," Tony muttered, voice pitched soft and much too low to hear, if he'd been human. "What's that about?"

"Derek has issues. You knew that already."

"There's issues and there's archives. _That_ kind of suggested a functioning library."

That would imply he was any good at letting his issues go, even temporarily.

Derek turned the sink on. Tried to ignore everything but the rush of the water and keeping his hands steady.

He needed to get out. Needed to run.

\-----

He didn't really remember the run home. Barely remembered leaving his stuff in the mudroom and heading out again.

Didn't realize his mother was trailing behind him, four footed and mostly silent, for--

He didn't know how long. Didn't have a watch, or his phone. It wasn't dark yet, at least.

One lope turned into another, heavier footed and slower, as his mother caught up with him. (When had he stopped? Probably when he started thinking again.) "Feeling any better?" 

He wasn't sure he'd been feeling _bad_ to begin with. Just-- "I don't know how I'm feeling."

She hummed and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, bumping her forehead against his jaw. "Cara texted me when you left, so I know what set this off. And Stiles is waiting for you back at the house. So if you need him to _not_ be there, I'll need to run back ahead of you."

Because his naked mother definitely wasn't carrying a cell phone. Right.

She pulled her head back and prodded him into moving again. Turned them to the right, but not toward home. Not yet. "Do you want me to tell you what _I've_ been feeling?" she asked, swaying his shoulders with her arm as she did.

It was a mark of how-- _off_ he was that he didn't understand, at first. Wondered what her feelings had to do with his, and--oh.

She meant him. Her feel of him through the bond.

She let go of his shoulders to hop over a log too soft to hold either of them, let alone both. "You've described that feeling for me before." She paused while he cleared the log. Flexed her toes when he stumbled, put just enough push behind it that his toes clenched as well, claws sinking into the dirt to steady him and-- When had he punched through his shoes?

"That kind of feeling, anyway," she corrected herself, bringing his attention back up to her instead of his feet. "You called it white."

She reclaimed his shoulders and leaned in to scent his hair again. Gave him a moment to process.

'White' was--right and not-right, but he knew what she was talking about ( _when_ she was talking about), and it was right enough.

At the edge of his vision, his mother was chewing absently on her lower lip. (He--couldn't feel her. Not really. Not past the void in his head. But he was hearing her, and her eyes weren't red, and she didn't need to _make_ him feel her, this time.)

"It _feels_ like walking into one of those rooms designed to amplify. So you drop a pin, and the sound of it landing becomes deafening."

He coughed annoyance at her, but understood what she meant (even if he did think what she was remembering was science fiction). One thing so big it blocked out everything else.

"It's usually panic that does that to you," she added, scenting the air and turning them again. "Or guilt. Large, complicated, negative things. But this didn't feel like that. It didn't feel like _one_ thing. That makes it harder to pick apart."

Which was why she was talking to him, moving them. Because he was still _there_ , just not as badly.

(He knew what she was doing. That didn't make it ineffective. Damnit.)

"This feels like there's some good there too. Some excitement, and relief. But also fear. Fear of yourself, and--something else. External, at least." She blew air out through her nose, pulled him in so her cheek brushed against his, intimate even for Hales. "Why does your fear smell like Stiles?"

"You're horrible at this," he managed to grit out. "Where's grandma?"

"Out with her friends, causing a ruckus probably," she snarked, grinning, then head butted him in the shoulder (softer than either of his sisters would have, even from that close a range). "You're stuck with me. Now. Fear. Stiles? Really?"

"I'm--not. I'm going to disappoint him."

"Crock of bull," his mother sang, horribly, though the feel of her in his head was sympathetic. "Why do you think you're going to disappoint him?"

She released him again as they crossed a stream. When he picked his head up, looked around, he realized they were headed to the walnut tree. ( _His_ walnut tree. Sometimes, his mom was the best.)

"His birthday," he tried, trying to pull the right words out of the white. "I'm not--"

And that-- That was amusement, sparking up in the sympathy. His mom was the _worst_.

"Oh stop growling," she chided, smiling. "It's just-- You know I talk to John, right?" And--what? He blinked at her and she grinned. "No? Honey, we have a standing coffee date, every Saturday. You haven't smelled him on me?"

He tried to cut off another growl, hunching his shoulders up like he could hide the fact that he was blushing. " _Everything_ smells like Stilinski."

She shook her head at him, definitely more amused than sympathetic now. "Oh, we are going to talk about scent differentiation and situational awareness later, kiddo. Just you wait. But yeah, I've been meeting with John every Saturday since _November_. The times change with his schedule, but the topic is always our beloved idiot sons."

"You talk about Jacob?" Derek huffed, dodging away from her swat. "Okay, fine. But so what?"

"So. I happen to know that John's had multiple excruciatingly awkward talks with his son. One of which included his irritation that you two didn't even have the option of getting married to deal with the age thing."

His brain skidded to a halt. (So did the rest of him, but thankfully his mother seemed willing to wait.)

"John wasn't kidding about the excruciating. Or the awkward," she said eventually, cracking her knuckles in that totally gross way she did when she wanted to wind up her mate or Paul. (Or Derek, apparently, because he couldn't help twitching.) "I think he'd just been venting, really. I'm not sure how serious he was about it. Then wham," she threw her arms up, a smirk chasing over her lips. "Suddenly he gets a full on education in why it wouldn't change anything, and what a hassle it'd be, and all the steps we'd have to go through. All before Stiles realizes his dad hadn't _actually_ been making a suggestion. And yes, I do wish I had their house bugged with cameras. Their faces had to have been _epic_."

He was still trying to catch up with all the implications of that. (Failing.) But-- "Why wouldn't it change anything?"

His mother padded over to wrap him up in a hug, nuzzling at his hair. "That's something you should ask Stiles, when you're ready to."

There was still the walnut tree, which was looming tall, visible over the smaller trees edging the clearing it made for itself. Welcoming, even leafless and silhouetted against the sky.

He blinked again, groping for words, and coming up with nothing.

His mother backed off with one last stroke down his arm. "Now," she tilted her head back, eying the walnut. "Want to head home, or hang out here for a while?"

(Stiles was home. It wasn't really a question.)

\-----

His sense of Stiles picked up before they'd gotten halfway home. Worried frustration twisting itself into--relieved, hopeful wrath.

Only the fact that most of it wasn't directed at him kept him from turning around and hightailing it back to his tree.

"Okay," his mother caroled as they approached the house, clapping her hands a few times. "Everybody out! Family run!" 

Most of the pack groaned, audible from as far up as the third floor. When Paul passed the message along, Niq snorted. "I don't have freaky hearing, and I'm not running. Go away," she commanded, and there was a thump like Paul had just hit the floor next to their bed. "Go rescue Erin from Peter. Or something."

"Nope! My baby!" Peter teased from the kitchen, which--Paul didn't relay, but _did_ start heading downstairs.

His family.

Derek stopped paying attention to them when Stiles came out the front door, tripped on the threshold, and started glaring their way--then immediately slapped a hand over his eyes. " _Oh_ my god."

Maria rolled her eyes, hands braced on her hips. "You're gonna have to get used to it eventually, brat. I like four feet, and I like talking. That means naked is just something that happens."

"You suck," Stiles pouted, shuffling out of the way as Matt and the terrors came bowling out the door, laughing and howling in human voices. (He could see Laura inside, juggling a Scritch-Scratch and Stitch under her arms, and trying to fend Pitch off with one foot.

Patch was already out, trotting fearlessly over to twine around Maria's legs with a chirruping purr.

"Not today, pretty," Maria hummed, leaning down to scoop Patch up and take her back inside while the rest of the family slowly trickled out.

Derek walked up to slump against Stiles' side, hoping he felt enough like apology to deserve the closeness. (Stiles seemed to think so. Turned into him and ducked his head into the curve of Derek's neck, pulling him close by handfuls of his shirt. --of course, that could just be another method of avoiding seeing Maria or anyone else naked.)

"Buooooother," Laura said, voice warbling and sounding like she'd swapped away from a swear at the last minute. (Which one, he had no clue.) "Would you two get inside while we have the cats kinda under control?"

Cats were never really under control, and all of theirs wanted to explore outside nearly as much as it terrified them when they did get out. (Except for Patch and Stitch, who were both insane and just wanted to be owl food, apparently.)

Derek maneuvered himself and Stiles inside carefully. (It had to be carefully, because Stiles was refusing to detach from his shoulder.) He let Laura scoop Pitch up onto his free-ish shoulder to purr and scent mark his hair lovingly, and did his best to push Stitch and the Scritch-Scratches back as Laura made her escape. (Patch was nowhere to be seen. Had probably stalked off in a huff when Maria tossed her back inside.)

"Mom's gone now," Derek offered, ruffling Stiles' hair.

"No I'm not," she sang back, but it was from the treeline so Stiles didn't hear her, at least.

Stiles scoffed and didn't move his head up. "Doesn't _feel_ gone."

"She's out of sight. I promise."

"Mmmm," Stiles offered, slumping more of his weight into Derek and nearly jostling him enough to unbalance Pitch before he braced his weight. "Butcho smell good."

There was really only one answer to that. Derek huffed and dropped the shoulder with Pitch on it, smirking as he merped in offense and skittered down Stiles' back to the floor.

Stiles yelped and straightened up, glowering at Derek when he laughed. "Jerk."

He shrugged. It wasn't news. "Upstairs?"

Niq was still on the third floor, but she couldn't hear them. The rest of the house was empty, but it wouldn't stay that way for long. Not with Matt and Stacia running with the rest of the pack. Not with babies along for the ride.

Besides, his bed was starting to lose Stiles' scent, and that was just unacceptable.

"Sure," Stiles said, shrugging and--looping his arms around Derek's neck. "Carry me."

It'd be an immature gesture if he wasn't so used to it. From Tania, before she took the bite, and Niq. Even his dad had mentioned how much fun it had been to piggy-back on Maria, before he'd taken the bite. Which--

"Not like that," Derek said, slipping out of Stiles' grip and turning around, crouching to offer his back.

"Seriously?" Stiles asked, but he was already clambering into place, legs hooking over his hips and arms over his shoulders, firm but loose enough not to choke. And--

And he had _not_ thought this through, with the feel of Stiles' thighs under his hands, suddenly. The weight of him against his back.

"I'm-- Uh." His voice almost cracked. Jesus. "I'm going to take the shortcut, so hold on."

The irritation and worry from earlier was forgotten, or at least buried, in the sheer glee Stiles felt at the idea. He curled closer and purred right in Derek's ear "I plan to."

Fucking _hell_. "And don't do that," he growled, making Stiles laugh.

The laughter disappeared on a gasp as Derek made the first jump, balancing easily on the rail of the first landing and twisting just enough to avoid hitting anything as he made the next hop, up to the second floor railing and down to the floor.

Stiles felt _welded_ to his back, alarm and unease spiking and disappearing just as fast back into delight. "Oh my god. That. Was. _Awesome_."

He didn't feel ready to get down, so Derek just carried him the rest of the way. Juggled his weight to the left as much as he could to free up his right hand and let them into his room.

Smiled as he dumped Stiles onto the bed, and Stiles laughed. Derek took a moment to lock his door and turn the radio on. Fiddled with the station it was tuned to more than was really necessary.

"Hey," Stiles said, pushing off the bed and walking over to lean against his back. "You okay? I mean. I know you weren't earlier, but then you were, and now you're kinda--"

Remembering what they were there to talk about. "Yeah," he sighed. "I'm--going to be fine. My brain's just a mess."

"Well c'mon then," Stiles huffed, tugging him toward the bed. "I'm an expert at brain messes."

"Because yours is one?" Derek joked, surprised when Stiles just shrugged and said "Well, yeah."

Derek let Stiles pull him down, nudging and pushing until he was curled into Stiles' chest, one of his thighs caught between Stiles'. "Better," Stiles said, scent turning smug and pleased as he scratched a hand through Derek's hair. "Now. Mess?"

"Did your dad really suggest marrying me?"

Which--wasn't really what his mom had said, but.

Stiles froze. Made a weird noise in his throat. " _What?_ "

That--wasn't actually a denial. Stiles felt shocked, not like a no, so Derek sighed and rubbed his nose against Stiles' collarbones while he waited for his mate to calm down.

"That wasn't really-- Okay, sort-of, yes, you could say that, but. _How?_ How do you know that?"

"Our parents have coffee dates," Derek muttered, mashing his face more against Stiles' chest. "Or Mom does, anyway. With your dad."

"So...my dad's dating a married woman?" Stiles asked, mirth starting to leach back into his voice. "Oh, he is going to get _so_ much shit for that."

Derek--just tried not picturing his mother with John. Or _both_ of his parents, because no. "Please don't. At least, not where I can hear it."

"Deal," Stiles promised, going back to ruffling his hair. "So. Okay. Why'd that come up?"

That brought the tension back, the worry and the fear, and Stiles made another weird noise, this one pained, concern flooding into the bond like a dam breaking. " _Dude_."

"Your birthday. Cara--just. She---made a joke. About you finally being legal. And I'm--"

Stiles--laughed. Laughed and pushed him over onto his back, relief flowing back in to wash the worry away. "Dude, you are _so_ not ready to sex me up. I get it."

"That's--" Derek could _feel_ himself blushing, Feel his heart skip up a beat when Stiles pressed their foreheads together, grinning. "That's not how I'd--"

"Yeah, you'd put it nicer," Stiles admitted, shrugging and pulling away a little. "But, seriously. There's this--thing that your brain does, when I start pushing too much. Like. I can do this," he said, hand pushing Derek's shirt up, palm gliding over his side. "And it's just--it's okay. But I do this," and he moved again, knee bracing against the mattress and--and they were about an inch away from some serious grinding.

And Stiles backed off. Pushed up a bit more to look down at him. "Yeah, like that. So I've just been--sort of trying to avoid that?"

That-- 

"I love you."

Stiles smirked down at him. "I know."

He laughed when Derek dragged him back down onto the mattress. _Shrieked_ when the tickling started.

And Derek-- Derek knew what he was talking about. Because he used the same sort of tell when he was tickling Stiles, or his sisters, or the kids. That quiver that split the line between perfect and too-much.

He just--hadn't ever really thought of it that way, before.

\-----

"That explains a lot, though," Stiles said after he'd caught his breath again (mostly). "The coffee thing."

Derek--couldn't really talk. Not coherently. Stiles was mostly flopped over him, shoulder smushed against his mouth. The best he could manage was a groggy "Muh?"

Whatever. Stiles sparked up with amusement but no confusion, so it obviously got his point across.

"Dad. He's relaxed a lot about us, which--yeah, I've been talking to him a lot about that, but it's not like he thinks I'm unbiased or all that good at thinking things through." He paused, shrugging a little and snorting when his shoulder bumped into Derek's nose, prompting a soft growl. "Ah, case in point," he admitted, starting to laugh again before he winced, reaching for his ribs.

Derek helpfully rolled Stiles off of him. He wound up with an arm pinned under Stiles' neck, but that was okay. (Even if it went to sleep, a few bruises would wake it right up. Besides, this way he could nose at Stiles' hair, the way his jaw always had a little more oak than the rest of him.)

"But., yeah," Stiles said after a second, hands finally stilling. "At this point, he just figures we're married and he's been weirdly okay with that."

"Even though you don't always think things through?" Derek asked, picking his head up to press his nose against the seam of Stiles' t-shirt. 

Stiles made a face, bapped at him until he put his head back on the pillow. "We talked about that, when Dad dropped the marriage-bomb. Apparently, he doesn't trust my judgment? But he trusts my choice." There was resentment, there. Traces of irritation and bitter petulance. It was subdued, though. Mostly hidden in acceptance, relief, amusement. "He's okay with it because it's you. Because it's your family."

The fact that they lived close by and were determinedly pulling John in as well as Stiles probably didn't hurt, but still.

"Hunh."

In the background, he could feel Cara approaching the house. Could feel the rest of his family on the way back, bright and warm and relieved.

"So. We good now?" Stiles asked, twisting over to scuff a hand through Derek's hair, intentionally trying to stir up every last irritating cowlick. "Now that you know I'm not going to be expecting you to show up on my birthday with a ribbon around your dick?"

Agonized hilarity exploded across the pack bonds, brighter than fireworks, as Cara started laughing. At herself. "Guess that's what I get for not respecting the radio rule," she announced when she caught her breath, loud enough for Derek to hear without reaching. "Excuse me for being worried about you, you jerk."

Stiles was flushed, covering his face with a hand even though there was no way he could hear her. (He could feel her, that was enough.) " _Never_ having sex in this house. Oh my god."

(Hopefully, Stiles would get used to that eventually. They might have to get an apartment in town for a while, when Stiles was done with college and they could come home again.)

(He was...okay with that. He thought. They had time to figure it out, either way.)

"We're good," Derek murmured, not really caring if Cara would hear him as he leaned over again, into Stiles' space to nudge the hand he was hiding behind out of the way with his nose.

Caught Stiles' smile with his own. Just a gentle brush of skin too soft to seem so vital.

"Yeah," Stiles whispered back, smile stretching. "We're good."

(Derek's arm was already going numb. He really didn't care.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No links today, sorry.
> 
> So, historically speaking, whenever I try to predict anything about this story, something else ends up happening instead. However, the enigmatic roommate keeps saying I need to warn people that the end is coming. So, consider this your warning. The end is nigh (I think). My hope is to finish in five chapters or less.
> 
> On that note, if you were left screaming in frustration at the possibility of waiting past Stiles' birthday, please rest assured that it shouldn't actually be that long.
> 
> I feel like I should have more notes, but I can't remember them. So tired.


	84. This isn't my fault

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea if this is pertinent to anyone still reading, but if you have concerns about underage sex then you should skip to the end notes (the END of the end notes) for more information. Please take care of yourself.

Derek couldn't avoid his family forever. Mostly because his mate was the _worst_ and insisted that they needed to eat. (Didn't appreciate the joke when Derek said he should stay put while Derek went out and caught something.)

Dinner was a random assortment of snacks, bread and butter, and some sort of stew thing out of one of Peter's 'hapless family' caches in the chest freezer. Peter huffed and grumbled about being pulled away from the kitchen when he should have been prepping for dinner.

(Nevermind the fact that he'd been playing with Erin and had already set the stew out to thaw. That wasn't the point.)

There was the usual scuffle about who got to sit on Stiles' other side. Laura won (by bodily moving Jacob to another chair. She was still muttering under her breath about the biting that stunt had earned her as she settled into her appropriated chair), and rubbed it in by poking at Stiles' face with carrot sticks and string cheese.

Pelting her with bread (Matt and Maria) didn't work as well as Derek leaning over and shoving her in the side of the head.

Mostly because it took her a second to realize he'd had a buttered slice of bread in his palm, and stomped off to clean out what she could without actually showering.

"Great," Stiles huffed, reaching for Laura's plates. "Now I have to get my own cheese."

(By the time Laura came back, the table was still laughing at Derek, Derek was still thumping his head against Stiles' shoulders, and Stiles had mostly cleared Laura's plate of both string cheese and carrots.)

\-----

Stiles eventually had to go home. His homework was there, and his bed, and his dad.

(He didn't object when Derek crowded him against the Jeep and scented him for a full minute. Went full of apples and warmth instead. Wrapped his arms around Derek's shoulders and nuzzled back.)

As the Jeep was pulling out of the driveway, Derek decided he didn't really feel up to his family. He felt up to sleeping, or trying to, but that was about it.

(Of course, things weren't that simple.)

Someone--Paul, probably--had moved his bag from the mudroom. Cara was chasing the terrors (not quite literally, but might be soon), so they weren't an issue. Laura was--

The shower in the bathroom they shared turned off, letting him hear her soft grumbles, if not make out the words she was using.

A shower sounded good, though. And if he waited until Laura was safely in her room before hopping up the stairs, he didn't think anyone would blame him.

Except Matt, apparently, who gave him a judgmental stare when he stopped by his room for clothes. _His_ room. 

"You're trespassing."

Matt shrugged and flopped over onto his side on Derek's bed. Didn't even pause the hand waving a feather wand for Pitch. "I wanna sleep here."

The idea didn't grate and Matt smelled of concern, all salt and lemons, so Derek just chuffed fake-annoyance and went to take his shower. 

(Tried to focus on his shower, even with Laura and Matt rambling through to brush their teeth because what _was_ privacy anyway. Didn't point out that it wasn't even Matt's bathroom because if he acknowledged them then they might start talking to him, and no.)

(There was no one there when he turned the water off, at least. So he could dry off, brush his own teeth in peace, and so what if Laura wound up growling at the locked door while he was rinsing his mouth out? That was totally allowed.)

He wished he could have been surprised when he opened the door and Laura tugged him out into the hall, wrapping him in a headlock and scruffling his hair up. Wished he could be surprised when she flounced into his room after releasing him, or when Matt gave her an idle wave without looking up from the black paw stretched out from under the bed, pinning the pink-feathered wand (Peter's fault or Gwen's? The world might never know) in Matt's hand securely to the carpet. (Pitch was getting better at that.) 

It wasn't surprising. It was just his family.

"You can figure out how to make yourselves fit," he huffed and crawled into bed, pulling his blanket up to his hairline out of habit.

(He still left more room on the wall side than normal, because Matt. Still curved his feet toward the wall, because Laura.)

Matt snickered and crawled up the bed to turn the light off. Clambered over Derek's back to get to the gap next to the wall and kneed Derek in the ribs in his hurry to get out of Laura's way as she flopped down in the remaining space, sending Pitch scurrying up toward the head of the bed.

"Stop being weird," she huffed at him, tugging the blankets down off his face with a toe and hugging his shin fiercely, either ignoring or not aware of the contradiction. "Why are you hid--ah!"

Her foot abruptly jerked away, and Derek smelled blood. Tilted his head to the side and cracked an eye open. Reached his arm up past the blanket's edge to rub his fingers together for Pitch, who was still glaring after Laura's ankle.

Or he was, until he noticed Derek's fingers. An affectionate headbutt later and he was thoroughly distracted, stropping his cheeks into Derek's palm and starting to purr when Derek absently rubbed his ears.

Laura spluttered. "Why--"

"You were in his spot," Derek pointed out. Reasonably, he thought.

Matt giggled, leaning up to try and squint after Pitch.

"His spot," Laura huffed. "What about _my_ spot? You're my brother. I have dibs!"

That was not a conversation that would end well. "Laura, he sleeps here _every night_ ," Derek groaned.

"And has limited object permanence," Matt chimed in, grinning at Derek.

He hadn't known that, but okay. "Yeah. So--yeah. His spot. Just--"

Laura muttered and tried to cram her feet under his shoulder instead. "I am _so_ telling Stiles you're sleeping with another man."

Derek would have protested, but Pitch finally settled down, chin resting over the bridge of his nose, purring hard enough to rattle his skull.

It was weirdly soothing, and he didn't really remember anything else that night.

\-----

Saturday was slow. When Maria breezed in around two thirty, Derek was at the front counter, ringing up the single client in Tinge (cockatrice, mid shoulder through lower neck, just finished with his second color session with Tony).

"Get out," Derek told his mother, deadpan, and Cockatrice blinked. Paused in the middle of handing over his credit card.

Maria ignored them, circling the counter to drop something off (box, plastic in the lid, inside a plastic bag, smelled like almonds and raspberry) before sidling up next to Derek and hooking her chin over his shoulder.

Trying to ignore her, Derek offered a weak smile to Cockatrice. Ran the man's card (with his left hand, because dammit Mother).

Cockatrice's eyebrows slowly climbed up his forehead (he was one of those people who went mellow after a tattoo session), but he just watched as Derek elbowed and bumped his mother out of his way as he got on with printing off receipts, then pretend-paused, looked at Cockatrice. "You went over aftercare with Tony, right?"

He had. Derek heard them. He still waited for Cockatrice to nod before handing his card back, wrapped in the receipts. "I know it's not your first tattoo, but you should take an aftercare pamphlet anyway."

"Yeeeeeah," Cockatrice drawled, eyes flicking to Maria and back as he scribbled in a tip for Tony. "Uh."

"Don't mind me, dear," his mother pipped up cheerfully. "I'm his mother."

His life. Why.

Cockatrice nodded like that made sense, though. Grabbed a pamphlet and saluted them with it before heading out.

It gave him just enough time to file Tony's receipt away and note the amounts in the book before Cockatrice was definitely out of hearing range. She snickered, and Derek slammed the ledger closed. " _Mom_."

"I love you too," she beamed, straightening up to press a kiss against his cheek. " _And_ I brought you pastries. You should thank me."

He recognized the bag, now that he was looking. Danielle's coffee shop (even if Danielle didn't work there anymore, it was still her shop in his head. That wouldn't change for a long, long time).

His mother smelled of coffee and--yes. John Stilinski. Still a little more oak and spice than his son.

"Okay, fine. You made your point."

"I'm still waiting for a thank you," Maria drawled, teasing. "Did I raise you so poorly?"

Derek huffed annoyance. "Yes. And I don't even know what you brought, yet."

He reached past her to snag one of the bag handles and pull it closer. Tried not to smile when she gasped "Rude!" and swatted ineffectually at his arm.

(Almond bear claws and raspberry danishes. Two of his favorites, and things he just couldn't be bothered with making himself at home.)

(He did thank her, eventually. But admitting to the gratitude she could already feel wouldn't have been any fun.)

\-----

Derek could only assume that trying to teach him to play video games was more fun than kittens (more or less literally), because Stiles tried again on Sunday.

(Because they still failed at normal dating, even if Derek did bring over crepe-making supplies and they kept pausing the system to eat, sketch, nap.)

(Because Stiles missed gaming with Scott, even if he wouldn't admit it. Even if they still _did_ at least once a week. But emotions didn't have to make sense.)

The game was-- He forgot, but it was racing. Stiles had given him four different options, all with cars on them and meaningless names. So far, racing games were better than the first person shooters ( _anything_ was better than first person shooters) and sports games Stiles had tried first.

He was getting stuck in fewer walls, anyway. Especially after Stiles moved them to street racing instead of track.

(Apparently he could get stuck in trees too. Who knew?)

"How is it you're _so much better_ at this, but still sucking?" Stiles grumbled as Derek pushed his car too hard going into a corner and careened into Stiles'.

"Dedication and persistence," Derek drawled, waiting for his car to reassemble so he could keep going. Grinned when Stiles' car showed up facing the wrong way. Right in front of his.

"Don't you--"

Derek smashed the gas with his thumb, grinning directly at Stiles, and wrecked them again.

Stiles tossed his controller aside before the parts had stopped flying on screen. Launched himself at Derek with a raspy growl that-- It sounded too much like Stacia's attempts to feel like anything _near_ a threat.

Knowing he was still grinning, Derek let himself get knocked backwards, catching Stiles when he almost rolled off the couch into the coffee table. Batted his own controller out of the way (he hoped. Not that there were terrors or cats to worry about here, just Stiles) before they could thrash their way into it.

(Did _not_ yelp when Stiles accidentally landed a knee in the meat of his thigh. Twisted his leg away and--Stiles was straddling his lap.)

Stiles took advantage of his distraction, leaning in to pin Derek's shoulders to the couch, still rasping annoyance even though the bond was lit up with obnoxious splotches of green and purple and tangerine affection.

Derek shrugged out from under Stiles' right hand. Laughed when Stiles almost lost his balance, went scrabbling for purchase on the couch and almost overbalanced the other way. Caught Stiles' wrist in his armpit, just for the low, throaty noises it got him and the small spike of nutmeg in Stiles' scent.

(And if it kept Stiles from falling off the couch, kept him propped on Derek's thighs, well. That was just a bonus.)

Then Stiles twisted his wrist, the base of his thumb brushing the edge of Derek's ribs, just off his shoulder blade, and Derek's head went--pink.

They both froze, staring at each other. (It wasn't--bad. Just--)

Stiles' eyes narrowed. His hand quirked, turning again, and those were fingers. Just curling in lightly, right--

Derek almost bucked Stiles off the couch entirely, squirming. Automatically grabbing at his shoulder so he didn't go over. Which--freed up Stiles' hand. And Derek's armpit.

And crap. Crap, crap, crap. Apparently he was ticklish.

His mate _grinned_ , pupils half blown and his scent full of cinnamony glee (apples, musk, cedar, pink and tangerine and a flash of that absurd punked out lovebird, fully crested) as he dove in.

There was a noise building in Derek's throat. He tried to swallow it down, because it felt like a _giggle_ and there was only so much embarrassment he could take.

(Only not, because the noise got away from him, and the way Stiles' face softened was almost worth the indignity of having _giggled_.)

It was-- _evil_ , not bad. Derek tried to protect his ribs, and nearly dumped Stiles onto the floor. Grabbed him back, and left his side open again. So Stiles could wiggle his fingers, which made him buck and pull his arms in, which nearly dumped Stiles onto the floor--

By the time Stiles collapsed onto him, giggling himself, they were both breathless. (For once, not really being able to breathe felt--good. It felt good.)

"Sorry," Stiles muttered into Derek's t-shirt, grinning. He _did_ feel apologetic, just--he was also practically smothering Derek in the scent of happy (horny), giving off a contented glow through the bond not quite at odds with the guitar-string of arousal thrumming at the edge, like Stiles was trying to keep it out of sight.

Derek contemplated the top of Stiles' head, the tops of his shoulders, then said, slowly, "If you're sorry, you should kiss it better."

Stiles laughed. "I'm not kissing your armpit," he complained, but shifted his weight forward, easing his hips down. Just enough that--yeah. He was hard. And pinned down in his jeans, from the feel of it. That couldn't be comfortable.

Without thinking, Derek dragged a breath in, tilting his head up to scent at Stiles' jaw. Spread his legs a little. Just enough. Just enough to push Stiles' knee until he slipped, dropped the rest of the way on top of Derek with a disbelieving huff.

"Uh," Stiles whispered, "Hi?"

Derek nosed at his cheekbone, tilting his head to the side and even that close he could see his mate's eyes going dark. Rumbled happily when Stiles nosed back. Slid forward again, slithering against him (Derek couldn't help the way he grabbed at Stiles' hip to keep him there, keep him close) to press their lips together. Not a kiss so much as a gasp and a groan filling the same space.

It only got better when their teeth clashed and Stiles pulled back with a laugh and they both hissed, pressure shifting just-- And Derek let his head tilt back, then Stiles had his head down again and he was _breathing_ against Derek's throat, panting wet and hot and--oh, oh, teeth were better, and he gasped wetly against Stiles' ear when he got a nibble, not just the gentlest of scrapes--

White was piling up in his head, sparkling and bright and nothing at all like the world was going away. It was imploding, instead. Coiling close. He couldn't hear anything past every little hitch and stutter of Stiles' breath, the pounding of his heart. Couldn't smell anything but Stiles-apples-cedar-musk-cinnamon and it was _amazing_.

He was aware of his hands; gripping at Stiles' hips, sliding up under his shirt to make him shudder and arch, moving back to _pull_ as Stiles' lips, breath, _teeth_ moved lightly over his neck.

He was aware of Stiles' hands; one sort of spasming between his hair and his shoulder, unable to decide which he wanted to grab most (Derek _really_ liked the hand in his hair, the sparks of almost-pain when Stiles gripped his shoulder and _writhed_ them together). The other was caught between Derek's side and the back cushion of the couch, fingers tangled up in t-shirt and unable to get to skin.

Stiles impatiently elbowed the cushion a couple of times, then gave up. Jerked his hand loose, grabbed the cushion and flung it over the back of the couch--somewhere. Derek didn't care, there was a big hand sliding up under his shirt, dipping along the indentations of his ribs just hard enough he wasn't squirming away, a thumb clipping his nipple and coming back when Derek shuddered, squirming closer, the bond between them sparking up, drawing tighter.

Stiles' neck was just _there_ , just in range for a bite (gentle, always gentle, always--trying for gentle), and he gasped when Derek set his teeth to skin. Hand stuttering back up from his shoulder to his hair and _holding_ him there, pulling him _closer_ and--

The bond exploded. Fireworks and glitter and too much and he could feel himself arching, writhing, pinning Stiles' hips against his because he needed pressure right--

Stiles collapsed onto him, head dropping into the crook of Derek's neck, panting against Derek's wet throat, and he twitched happily.

Breathing hard, they lay there for a while, a little bit stunned.

Then the racing game's music looped again, brakes shrieking. Derek winced. Stiles twitched, then twitched again, muttered "Oh my _god_ ," into Derek's neck.

Froze.

Pulled back onto his elbows to check Derek's face, pat at his cheekbone with concerned fingers (which--what). "Are you--that was. Uh. This isn't my fault. You didn't mind and I have horrible impulse control and--"

Derek couldn't help it. Let his head fall back with a laugh because _his mate_. Stiles huffed and punched him in the chest (thwapped with closed fingers, more like--not enough to hurt a human).

He curled an arm around Stiles' shoulders to haul him back in. Nose at his hair.

At least until the game looped again.

\-----

And that was how Derek wound up wearing a pair of his mate's sweatpants and one of the triskele shirts. Wound up in the laundry room, standing between Stiles' knees, hands on Stiles' thighs and Stiles' heels lightly pressing into his hamstrings while they waited for the washing machine. (Stiles was perched on the dryer, not the washing machine. Stiles did _not_ need that temptation.)

"Okay, so," Stiles nodded, frowning down at Derek's hands. "That was awesome, and if you stay okay with it we should absolutely do more of that. But you should maybe leave a pair of pants over here, in case we don't have time for laundry and--" He flapped a hand at the washing machine.

Like that needed explaining.

"You think we can hide the fact that we're having sex?" The thought put a weight in his stomach, even as Stiles was shaking his head, negation singing in the bond.

"Oh, hell no. I'm not sure there are enough showers in the _world_ with your family involved." (There weren't. To get rid of the smell of semen, sure. But he'd have to hide for _days_ to keep them from sniffing out the deeper scents.) "And we don't really need to _hide_ it from my dad. I mean, not more than we would anyway, 'cause ew."

Derek shrugged, too used to knowing when someone in his family was having sex, but Stiles made a face. " _Ew_ ," he said firmly before his face smoothed out into an approximation of serious again. (As serious as was possible while wearing Green Lantern boxers and a baggy t-shirt from a Beacon County Wellness Fun Run, anyway.) "But no, really. We don't need to hide it, except we kinda do?" He made a face. "The top item on Dad's birthday wish list was 'Plausible Deniability'. Which I told him wouldn't even be necessary, so--" 

"So now it's really important he has it," Derek nodded. "But-- Uh, why? I mean, I know the law, but he was obviously expecting this."

"People talk to my dad about us," Stiles grimaced, embarrassment racketing at the edges of the bond. "We're apparently not very subtle? And some people think they need to make sure my dad knows what I'm up to with the dangerous looking older man," he added, rolling his eyes, and-- 

"Dangerous looking?" Really?

"You work in a tattoo parlor, wear a lot of black, don't shave every day, scowl a lot, and are seriously built," Stiles rattled off, patting one of Derek's pecs with a smug little smile. "It's hot, but it makes some people nervous."

And it's not like he didn't know some people thought poorly of him. Of everyone at Tinge. The official complaints and unofficial letters made that clear enough. 

"But yeah," Stiles huffed, slumping back onto his hands and tilting his head like he didn't _know_ what that did to Derek. (There was a spark of surprised-happy-smug across the bond, in time with a too-soon beat of Stiles' heart, so maybe he'd actually forgotten.) "Anyway. People talk to Dad, and he has to tell them about how we're waiting, so. Plausible deniability. It's a thing."

Which wasn't perfect, but-- Stiles wouldn't even _make out_ seriously at Derek's house. Got embarrassed and flushed and uncertain if his dad was _in the house_ (if he remembered, at least). 

So, really, they just needed to be more careful when John was gone. When he'd be coming back. Which-- They used to be good at that.

"Alright," Derek agreed, leaning in and nosing at Stiles' neck. _Didn't_ tighten his grip on Stiles' thighs and pull him closer when Stiles shivered at the touch. "I'm going to head back out and see how the living room's airing out. And I'll bring an extra pair of pants next time I'm over."

The implication of that made Stiles grin, a steady thrum of anticipation starting up. "Awesome."

He reached out to poke Derek in the butt with his foot as he left the room, and Derek rolled his eyes. Because this, _this_ was what he'd decided to spend the rest of his life with.

(He couldn't picture it any other way.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No links this week. And, honestly, probably not for the rest of the story. Starting next week I'll be starting the process of compiling and updating all of my tattoo artist links for the end notes. (This week, the enigmatic roommate and I were _literally_ working on this until about ten minutes ago. In fact, she's still working on it, checking for last minute typos and editing remnants, while I type this up.)
> 
>  
> 
> Fun fact! Derek's failure at video games is actually mine. I'm fine at a side-scrolling game, but in anything that requires me to have _any sort_ of personal connection to where I am in the screen? I get stuck in walls.
> 
> I'm not kidding. If there's no wall available, I'll find a tree or a lamppost or something. It's my super power.
> 
> And I decided to share it with Derek.
> 
> (I don't have this problem with computer games, just anything where I'm expected to use a controller instead of a keyboard. I do not know why.)
> 
>  
> 
> **This is the END of the end notes**
> 
> Stiles and Derek do wind up having sex before Stiles turns 18. Neither of them thought it was going to happen, it wasn't planned, there was no seduction to get past anyone's issues. I'm fairly certain the reasoning behind what happened will come up in the next chapter, but if you want or need to know about it now, just ask.


	85. It's Thigh of Dicks all over again

The clapping started before he got into scent range. Long, slow, not quite sarcastic claps, interspersed with his parents' laughter.

Derek sighed at them all (he knew they could hear him, even if he hadn't cleared the treeline and couldn't see any of them), grumbled "I hate you all" and snorted when the clapping got louder. When Laura made her presence known with that obnoxious, shrill wolf whistle she insisted was 'ironic'.

It wasn't everyone. Vic and Cara were still at Tinge, Peter would be at Lapin Grillé, someone had herded the terrors and Matt inside and his grandmother was--somewhere.

It was still a _lot_ of people clapping at him. Both his parents, Niq, Laura, _and_ Paul. (To be fair, Paul wasn't clapping. Had his hands full of squirmy Erin. The smirk on his face was just as bad though, so it didn't matter.)

"I'm telling Stiles how horrible all of you are," he said once the clapping died down, "and moving in with his dad."

Laura snorted, bracing her hands on her hips. "Like he wouldn't just demand an encore?"

(Considering how shy he was about sex? Probably not. Still.) Derek huffed and dropped his head. Groaned something like agreement.

They'd probably remember his posture more than the nuances of what he was feeling.

His mother stepped down and walked over, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and hugging tight enough to make his bones creak, nosing at his hair. "Sorry baby. We're horrible."

"Knew that already," he muttered as she tugged him inside, tutting people out of her way as she--pulled him to the study.

"What, no," he objected, setting in his heels. For a whole half a second before his father gave him a gentle push from behind. "Why?"

"Just come in, bratling," his mother sighed, hovering by the door as he gave in and shuffled his way to his favorite armchair. Spread her hand against Laura's stomach and pushed her back out, when she made to follow. "Not you."

Laura huffed and backed off, but she felt--more like concern than mockery. The hell. "You _said_ bratling. _I'm_ usually bratling."

"And you also know better. Shoo."

Then the door closed and it was just him and his parents.

It felt familiar, so he pulled the afghan off the back of the armchair over his head to complete the picture.

"Oh stop that," his mother laughed. "You aren't in trouble, and it doesn't feel like Stiles is either."

"We just wanted to check in and see if you wanted to talk," his father added. Sighed as Maria poked Derek's legs through the blanket a few times to figure out where he was, then promptly curled up over him and the arms of the chair. "Or become furniture."

Maria snorted. "He's my son. He should be used to it."

He was. He really, really was.

Derek pulled the blanket down off of his head to glare at them. "Why would I want to talk? When do I _ever_ want to talk?"

Maria tilted her head back and forth and made the throaty little hum that meant she agreed, but didn't care.

"We might," his father admitted with a shrug, "have wanted to get you alone and thinking about it, so we could make sure you felt okay."

"From what Stiles told his dad, our entry in the betting pool was around graduation," his mother added. And--he wished he was surprised. (He mildly hoped it wasn't Olivia who started it, too, but he knew better. It was _always_ Grandmother Hale.) "Now, I don't mind losing, especially if you're happy, but it's concerning that Stiles was so wrong."

And--that was interesting. When did his parents start trusting his mate's instincts over their own, when it came to him?

Derek turned his head to the side, digging his forehead into the back cushions. Trying to think. "It's-- When we talked, I think. I just-- _felt_ better after that. Neither of us were expecting it, though."

If they had been, they wouldn't have ended up dry humping on the couch, that was for sure.

"That makes sense, I suppose," his mother mused, pushing herself up abruptly and kissing his forehead before standing. "You can hide in here for a while, if you want."

"Can I hide with hot chocolate?"

His mother laughed, but felt like agreement. David smiled and ruffled Derek's hair on his way to the door.

"Hey, wait," Derek called out before they could leave, making them pause in the doorway. "Who _did_ win the pool?"

There was a spike of sheepish glee from the main room and--seriously?

His parents both snickered, but it was his father who answered. "Tania. She bet on this week, actually."

"I think Danielle's runner up," his mother added. "We'll have to check the spreadsheet. She figured you'd end up doing something the week before or of her Spring Break."

_'Because you are the_ worst _brother,'_ he could almost hear her add. It was nice, if pointless, for them to leave that part off.

"Great. Thanks." Derek reburied himself in the afghan, _really_ not up to dealing with his family.

(Except Laura, when she brought him a mug of nearly perfect hot chocolate and pushed him around until they could share the armchair, but didn't try to get him out from his blanket. Didn't do anything but settle down with a book and feel like family.)

(That was okay.)

\-----

"It's a good thing Dad only asked for _plausible_ deniability," Stiles muttered instead of a hello when he called that night. "He took one look at me, rolled his eyes, then stomped upstairs muttering about 'one month'. I am apparently very much not spy material."

"Even spies need training," Derek noted, even though he knew that wasn't Stiles' point.

It made Stiles make a rude noise over the phone, and that was enough for him.

"Yeah, whatever. How was your family? Horrible?"

"They gave me a round of applause," he drawled, smiling at the choking noise Stiles made. "Then my parents made me sit down so they could check in with me, and apparently Tania won the betting pool they had going on us."

"They had a betting pool?" Stiles spluttered, before, " _Tania?!?_ "

"I know, right?"

"Oh man. Your family is _so_ weird."

It was nice to have someone agree with him about that.

\-----

Monday morning was a lazy sort of mess, with Niq growling at the coffee maker for not producing its second pot quickly enough and Matt getting upset in his own quiet, tight way after spilling a bowl of cereal all over the table. (Jacob knocking his oatmeal over in solidarity, while not helping with the mess at all, did at least get Matt to relax enough to roll his eyes at his cousin.)

Peter and Tania were saddled with most of the mess, Laura refilling bowls and David getting faces wiped. Paul was busy trying to keep Erin from fulfilling what was apparently a lifelong dream of faceplanting into the tile (which--even against an adult werewolf, she was doing a remarkably good job. More through persistence and the inherently jelly-like nature of babies than strength, but still) and making sad faces at his other daughter, as Stacia shamelessly stole piece after piece of toast off of Paul’s plate.

(Niq abandoned the coffee maker to put another loaf through the monster toaster, because she loved her mate. And they all knew it, because she didn’t give up on coffee for just anybody.)

It was--weird, though. Helping his mom clear up the dishes as people filed out: Matt, Jacob, and Stacia being bundled into Peter’s minivan for school with Tania hitching a ride for some reason (just because he _could_ eavesdrop on any member of his family in the house and know whatever plans they were making didn’t mean he _bothered_ most of the time), Laura not-swearing and bypassing the door in favor of a window so she wouldn’t have to juggle cats when she was already running late, watching Paul hand Erin off to David with one last enthusiastic raspberry against her tummy before wandering off to run to work (because Derek really _was_ the Paul of his generation, in a lot of ways), and David settling Erin in the play-pen with Greg (which really wasn’t going to last much longer. Especially if either of the cubs got a grip on how to _keep_ their claws past the point where they wound up staring at them in fascination) before turning to smile at Gwen, already dancing from foot to foot in anticipation before they both headed for the back door.

“Do you two need any help with Gwen?” he asked, frowning after their footsteps.

Maria shook her head, grinning, even as she rearranged the utensil caddy to her liking as part of her slow, silent war against the sanity of her mother and brother. “No, we should be fine. She’s been doing a lot better, lately.”

Which-- That was good! Great, even. Just also disconcerting, and his mother laughed as she ruffled his hair, kicking the dishwasher shut with a decisive click. “You go have fun, we’ll be fine.”

So of course, he wound up running to Tinge anyway.

He wasn't on the schedule, which meant somebody else--Vic (usually rolling her eyes at him) and Tony--got to deal with the phone. But he could set up shop at the consultation counter and work in mostly-peace. Around the walk-ins, anyway.

Refreshing a fifteen year old gecko was going to be interesting, trying to preserve what he could of lines that had gone blurry and faded instead of hiding the old ink under new.

It took him six tries to come up with a set of Rorschach blobs that looked--not good, try two had looked _good_ in a Salvador Dali's death's-head kind of way--but right, like what they were, bent over the curve of an arm.

(And okay, maybe tries three and four had been spread over the span of a familiar forearm, and maybe he'd added unnecessary details to the hands, sketched in the shadows of boyish knuckles broadening into adulthood. Nobody'd noticed, so it hadn't happened.)

It was just--easy. To sit in Tinge, listening to Cara and Tony bicker, and Vic snark. To the way their voices lit up when they were working on a design they loved, and all the little tells they had when faced with a design they thought was horrible.

And if he hadn't come in despite the schedule, he'd have missed Tony's _face_ when one of his consults asked for an armband of oak leaves and sprigs of yew.

Derek hadn't known it was possible to squint _and_ have an eye tick at the same time.

(The customer didn't smell like magic, though. Like sadness, definitely. But no magic.)

\----- 

His sense of Stiles hummed to life, just distant enough to tell where he was but not what he was feeling.

It faded, then came back. Grew stronger until it was flushed with confusion, then amusement, then he was walking in the door, dropping his bag under the counter and swinging into the seat across from Derek. "Aren't you supposed to be, y'know, _not_ here today?"

"My family is horrible," Derek deadpanned, trying to keep his mouth from twitching up as he strengthened and smoothed out the line of a puffin's beak. "I'm running away and moving in with you and your dad instead."

Stiles choked, hilarity bubbling up across the bond. "Oh, man. _So_ awkward."

"What on earth would be awkward about moving in with my underage boyfriend and his father, the sheriff?" Derek asked, smile finally breaking out as Stiles reached across the counter to hit his shoulder.

"Jerk," Stiles huffed, plopping back down into his seat. "So--"

Derek looked up, but Stiles wasn't quite looking at him. Felt suddenly--off. Kind of muted. "What?"

"I--" Stiles huffed a sigh and collapsed back in his seat. "I dunno. You gonna hang out here, or--"

"I can go. I just want to--"

"No, yeah, finish," Stiles waved him on. "I'm gonna go say hi to Tony. He's not currently poking people with sharp objects."

Derek snorted and went back to his puffin beak (puffins were so _weird_ looking). Kept an idle ear on Tony and Stiles while he finished and packed up. Smirked when Stiles bumped Tony out of the way and put the ink bottles back in their proper order.

Grinned when Stiles waved goodbye and walked back to join him and grab up his bag.

That was two for two, with Tony.

It was a relief to know not _everybody_ could take one look at them (or less) and know what they'd been up to.

\-----

"Did you wanna go home, or--"

Derek glanced over at Stiles, took in the way his fingers were dancing a little faster than normal over the steering wheel, the way his eyes jittered over the street even though it wasn't that busy, focused on the thrum of the bond. "Your place is fine. Why are you nervous?"

Stiles' heartrate picked up a notch as he flushed, scent deepening and--oh.

"Okay," Derek said, trying not to smirk as he slouched against the door of the Jeep, twisting a bit to face Stiles more. "Is this worried or hopeful?"

Stiles made a face but didn't take his eyes away from the road as he pulled out into the street. "Oh, hah-hah."

He felt calmer, though. Only took a few heartbeats before he shrugged awkwardly, not looking over. "I guess--maybe both? Brains don't have to make sense, you know, and--"

Derek could feel the tangent coming. Not even an intentional diversion, just--Stiles' brain. "Especially about sex."

"Yeah," Stiles muttered, almost distracted as they pulled up to an intersection (the topic or the stop sign?). It didn't last. "I mean, obviously. And, just, did that even count as sex? I mean, orgasm exchange, sure. But--"

"I think it counts. You don't have to, but for legal purposes--yeah." (He was pretty sure, anyway. Should probably have researched that, at some point, but just the idea had made him twitchy and unsettled and--no.)

That made Stiles deflate, nerves coming back (not as strong as before, but with a trace of guilt). "Yeah."

"Do you have homework?"

The change of topic threw Stiles for a loop briefly, his sense through the bond going blurry and muddled before settling again. "Uh, yeah. History's gonna have a pop quiz this week I should study for, and I've got an English paper due in a few days."

"A few days?" Derek faked shock. "What happened to two weeks from now?" 

Stiles huffed and turned away from the road just long enough to glare at Derek. "I _am_ ahead. Just--it's a stupid assignment, okay? And I might, possibly, not have understood part of it until today, so what I already wrote is _wrong_ now."

"That sucks," Derek nodded. "So--how do you know you're going to have a pop quiz? Isn't that kind of--"

"It's not like it's on the syllabus or anything," Stiles scoffed. "Ms. Clarke just has more tells than a junkie."

Derek blinked at that comparison. "Oookay."

Stiles glanced at him, confused for a flash then refocusing. "So. Homework day?"

"Homework day," Derek agreed. "Do we need anything for dinner?"

Stiles shook his head. "Nah. I've got chili stewing in the fridge."

"Cornbread?"

"--was not something I thought about, but would be awesome."

Derek gestured him to turn around for a grocery store, because if nothing else they were going to need cornmeal.

(They did have a bit of confusion once they got inside, with Stiles heading toward the bakery and Derek heading toward the baking aisle, but that was easy enough to sort out with a hand on the back of Stiles' shirt.)

\-----

They made cornbread, with Stiles insisting that it was witchcraft. (It was just _cornbread_. Cornbread was _easy_.) Discovered that Stiles had forgotten to brown the meat before starting the chili, which meant it was--raw. Got that started cooking. (Hoped it'd come out alright, with the meat basically being boiled.)

Derek listened to Stiles rant his way through his paper, which--didn't take as long as Derek would have thought. 

Neither did the history studying, which wound up just being Stiles pulling his notes out, shoving them into the relevant chapter and abandoning the whole thing on his desk.

"I'll review it in the morning," Stiles said, answering the question Derek hadn't bothered asking, before crawling up onto his bed and over Derek. "Otherwise Ms. Clarke's going to report me to the guidance counselor for popping a boner whenever I think about Executive Order 9066. And I'd _agree_ with her."

Derek snorted. "Do I want to know?" 

He still slid his hands up Stiles' sides, though. Pushed his shirt up enough to rub at the skin over Stiles' hips with his thumbs.

Stiles squirmed closer, getting Derek's palms solidly on his skin. Made a face. "Prooobably not. World War Two boners. Kinda wrong." Then he leaned down for a kiss, nipping at Derek's lower lip with his teeth.

They didn't have to do laundry that time. John was home before they got that far, and gave them the most disbelieving sigh when he came in and found them only barely gotten to the couch in time. No television on, or papers out, bags nearby...

"You're the one who said making out wouldn't get anybody arrested," Stiles grumped, reaching for the remote. "And I think it's pretty obvious we weren't up to anything more than that, since--"

John threw his hands up with a muttered "I do _not_ want to hear the rest of that sentence. Christ," and retreated to the kitchen.

Stiles found a CSI episode to torment his father with. Because of course he did.

\-----

Jacob-- Stiles would have described it as 'got inspired' or 'had an artistic phase', but the net result was Jacob did _things_ to the third floor hallway walls for nearly half an hour before the smell of the markers woke Olivia up.

\-----

"Oh my god," Derek muttered when he pushed back from the consultation counter to get a better look at his work. "It's Thigh of Dicks all over again."

There was a crash from the bathroom, a yelp, and then helpless, breathless laughter.

"Baaaabe?" Vic inquired, poking her head out of the office to eye the bathroom door warily, but it just made Cara laugh harder.

(The commission was supposed to be a sea anemone, not--that.)

\-----

Stiles laughed too, not quite as hard as Cara, when Derek told him about how it took him, Cara, _and_ Vic an hour to figure out how to design and place a semi-realistic sea anemone without it looking like a nest of tentacles.

(Then he had to try, too.)

John came home to a kitchen counter covered in pencil shaving and drawings of--

" _Really_ , kiddo?" John huffed, turning away to get some juice out of the fridge. "I thought we were done with that cartoon phase," which made Stiles go red as a tomato, his feel through the bond stuttering toward--

"I have a commission for a sea anemone," Derek blurted, before Stiles' brain could finish formulating whatever probably-regretful words it was working on. "Stiles didn't believe it could be that hard to draw."

(Stiles choked on a snort when he said 'hard', but Derek was going to just ignore that. And pretend that John's eyes hadn't cut over to his son right then either.)

John's attention settled back on Derek, waiting. (For a human, John had phenomenal authority in his presence, but Derek had grown up with Maria and Olivia Hale. He didn't flinch.)

"Okay," John allowed after a second. "Does one of you want to tell me why my coffee tasted like ginger this morning?"

Stiles twitched and side-eyed one of the cupboards, fingers tangling in one of the strings of his hoodie. "Uh. In my defense, we've got, like, _three_ grinders now, not counting the old one, and--"

Which somehow turned into Derek explaining Christmas presents. Again.

\-----

Tony caught a clue Thursday afternoon, when Stiles sprawled himself over Derek's back where he was settled at the consultation counter before starting in on a rant about veganism (randomly muffled every so often when he turned his face into Derek's hair to hide a grin).

" _Really_?" Tony huffed, dropping his pencil next to the register and--not really glaring, but the stare was definitely judgmental.

"I _know_ , right?" Stiles blustered, pulling away from Derek's back so he'd have more room to gesture. "They seriously try to get people to stop eating honey!"

\-----

Derek considered calling in sick Friday morning, but he had an appointment with a guy who wanted the Starbucks mermaid with lion fish spines and a spear in hand on the back of his right calf, and Derek really wanted to see how it was going to come out. Wasn't used to working on a calf with quite _that_ much muscle definition.

(Tony backed off to just rolling his eyes every so often by the time Starbucks came in. That was okay.)

\-----

They stuck to public spaces for their next date. Went back to Floyd's and sketched around burgers, shakes, and pie. Went for ice cream and a walk and back to Stiles' place to make dinner with his dad.

It was all very wholesome, and John eyed them suspiciously the whole time.

He came over again on Monday, after school. Stayed until after John got home, so he could see them curled up together, napping on the couch. Nothing scandalous at all.

(Anymore.)

\-----

They'd known Danielle was due in, so everyone was home when the feel of her blossomed across the bonds, bright and sharp and _focused_ as she drove up to the house and bounded out of her car.

Even knowing what was coming, she still knocked their dad flat on his back into the grass. Smushed her face into the crook of his shoulder and warbled a murder-noted warning when he tried to wiggle away, even though he was probably just trying to escape the mostly-buried rock everyone knew was there (by the throbbing irritation through the bond, if not the kind of painful and repeated introduction Derek and Laura kept arranging for each other, by accident or design).

Regardless, Danielle wasn't moving, so everyone piled in around them instead, cuddling up close to Dani and ignoring David's occasional attempt to squirm away.

And because his family was the _worst_ , Dani still found time to twist around and glare in Derek's direction. "I didn't win, did I."

Olivia cracked up and nearly pulled half the family down with her while Derek thumped his head repeatedly against Peter's shoulder.

"You were the next runner up," Tania assured her from the edge of the pile, smug in the way she only got when a long shot paid off.

"God _damn_ it," Dani grumbled, trying to kick him before giving up and letting their mother tuck her more firmly against her side.

Tania sighed and reached over to flick Dani's ear. "Language."

\-----

"I don't recall inviting you," Stiles complained, even as he let Danielle press in close and rub her face against the curve of his neck. "Date night's supposed to be just the two of us."

"Cope," Dani growled. Then--bent her knees, hooked her arms around Stiles' hips, and picked him up. Started carrying him toward the living room, despite the flailing. "Der says you've been making him play video games. I have _got_ to see this."

Stiles wavered for a moment but didn't actually slump over Danielle's shoulder. Kept himself upright by accident for a few heartbeats, then figured out how to brace himself against her--head. (Not the best choice, but it worked.) "Help?"

Derek shrugged and lifted his phone to take a picture, then followed after his mate and closed the door. Stiles didn't feel like he actually minded, so--

It turned out, Danielle was a good match for Stiles on Call of Duty, and the worst possible kind of enabler when Stiles set her and Derek up with another racing game. It was _ridiculously_ fun to take a bunch of high end cars out on a track and play bumper cars with them. And that was before Danielle pulled a vicious turn and started driving the wrong way on the track. _That_ was a revelation.

"Okay," Stiles said, nodding and blinking at the amount of damage they'd managed to wrack up. "So. I'm thinking Mario Kart is more up your alley."

(It was still hard to drive, but Mario Kart was Derek's favorite just two minutes in. And that was before he'd learned about turtle shells.)

\-----

John couldn't make it for the full moon, but he sent Stiles along with a batch of peanut butter chocolate chip cookies that Stiles said were the only thing his dad baked. 

(They didn't last two minutes, aside from the four Stiles pulled off the plate to reserve as his own, and Derek kind of understood why John stuck to just one thing. It was a really, really good thing.)

Dani claimed the majority of the couch, sprawling out over Laura and Cara and Stiles with a steady contented rumble, her face crammed between Laura's hips and Cara's thigh.

Derek didn't mind. Took the spot at Stiles' feet and let Matt and the terrors pile up around him to make a little nest. 

There was no way Stiles was moving, as covered in Hales as he was, but he didn't seem to mind. Felt like warmth and content and family as he ran his fingers through Derek's hair.

Better yet, he shared broken off chunks of his cookies, while he still had them. Flushed but didn't complain when Derek licked them out of his fingers.

(Dani kicked him in the head, but he didn't care about that. Wasn't sure if it was an opinion or just a hello, anyway.)

\-----

The run itself was--

It was all of his pack who _would_ run, except Edward. It was Cara getting it into her head to climb a tree and Olivia going up to help her back down. It was Dani snapping at Laura's heels as they ran dizzying circles around Stiles and Vic. It was Matt clinging to his father's back as Peter played tag with Maria and David and Paul.

It was Stiles, howling with them and laughing and smelling like apple and oak and muddled spices and mate, and--

"I didn't think anything would ever top the raccoon story," Stiles admitted the next morning, pushing at Derek's hip with his foot.

Derek groaned and shoved his face further into the mattress (smelled like Dani--probably her room) while his sisters laughed and curled up closer around his mate. (And, really, how was that fair?)

"I'll give you a pass because of the moon," Stiles continued, voice quivering with amusement. "But seriously. No dead animals, okay? That was probably a really _cute_ bunny. Y'know. Before it was all limp and--"

(Derek couldn't see what Stiles' face was doing, but it was doing something. He just knew it.)

"It was definitely tasty," Danielle added, voice smirking, and Derek twisted around to bite her ankle.

(He didn't _care_ if Stiles hadn't wanted it. He hadn't caught it for _her_.)

\-----

Danielle started the drive back to school on Friday instead of waiting until the last minute. Buried her face in Maria's shoulder and admitted, "I promised to prank Roger for April Fool's. His roommate and I are setting up tomorrow."

"You promised Roger you'd prank him?" their mother asked, voice tilting up in amusement. "Does he know what he's getting into?"

Danielle shrugged, not picking her face up, which--was a no.

"Send us pictures," David said around a grin that was all about showing off his teeth as he curled in around Dani's back, before he buried his nose in her hair.

"I will."

\-----

Derek had no idea how they'd 'set up' two days in advance, but the photo Dani sent their parents showed someone that Derek had to assume was Roger, asleep in the far corner, past dozens of brightly colored plastic slinkies attached to the ceiling. She sent another photo later, of assumed-Roger trying to make his way to the door, nearly falling over because one of the slinkies he was trying to push away was attached to the floor, too.

He couldn't help himself. Texted Dani _Good taste. Hehas nice abs_

Grinned when she just replied with _Shut it_

\-----

Derek didn't wait for his family to finish with breakfast. Waited until Olivia was distracted by a conversation about Lapin's annual trickster menu and Maria was checking in with Paul for updates about some escaped rabbits and slipped up to his room.

Balanced a toothpick in the top gap of his door, went through touching the surfaces of everything, muting the traces of the last few people in his room. Left a piece of tape stuck to the window, one end trailing free, and carefully slid it shut behind him on his way out.

He trusted his family. He just also trusted them to be occasionally obnoxious and horrible.

(Laura had work and Dani was gone, so his room was probably safe. But.)

Derek padded into the woods, even as he heard his mother start laughing back in the kitchen. Felt her amusement singing at him.

Didn't care. Pulled his phone out and texted Stiles _Inhiding frm famly. CU after school_

Got a text back before he wandered out of cell phone range.

_Whyyyyy not spring brk yet. Bet hales r awesme tdy_

Because of course his mate would just want to join in. Why not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This doesn't feel like it's part of the end but it is, I swear. *facepalm* Two chapters more expected. Three at the most.
> 
> In other news: if possible, don't buy commercial honey but please _do_ support local apiaries. It makes a difference.
> 
> Also, I don't have a specific problem with veganism. I have problems with the vocal and crazy minority. It's the same relationship I have with most major religious groups. If you don't go around yelling at people for being evil and wrong, you can assume I don't have a problem with you.
> 
> (Stiles might, but Stiles is still formulating opinions about the world and has a long way to go before he really understands some of what he's talking about.)


	86. pride of place

Niq breezed through Tinge's door Tuesday like she was just swinging by to drop off coffee. (She wasn't, of course, because once she got her hands on coffee she didn't let it go. Unless it had vanilla syrup. Niq _hated_ most vanilla syrup.)

Derek eyed the garishly wrapped box she shoved across the counter dubiously. It wasn't April Fool's anymore, so it probably wouldn't explode if he touched it, but he wasn't going to bet on it. (It was probably full of glitter. Danielle had got Peter with a glitter-bomb one year.)

(In his _car_.)

He was still squinting suspiciously at the package (seriously, that wrapping paper looked like a Hawaiian shirt had thrown up a margarita) when Niq checked her watch, just a flicker of movement at the edge of his sight, and hummed happily.

(She'd have time to stop for coffee before heading off to whatever appointment she was on her way to. It was sad that he knew that.)

Then she turned and started walking away, waving over her shoulder and caroling "Thanks, Derek!"

"What the hell is this for?" Derek called after her, pushing the box further away from him, his sketchbook, and the cash register with the blunt end of his pencil. "I thought bombs were still banned!"

(In the back, someone thumped their head against one of the counters--probably Tony--and Cara was doing a bad job of cooing reassurances at her customer.)

Niq paused mid-stride, turned on her heel and propped her knuckles against her hip. (It was so weird seeing her dressed for work sometimes; strictly business from her steel-blue pumps to the way her curls were pinned into a severe twist that couldn't quite hide how _much_ hair was involved.) "He sneezed glitter for _days_ ," she reminisced happily (further cementing Derek's suspicions about who had helped Dani in setting _that_ little fiasco up), then made a show of examining her nails. "Come on, Derek, keep up; it's the second, and there's an important gift giving holiday coming up." She flicked her nails at the box, turning dismissively. "Like I have anywhere to leave Stiles' birthday present but here."

And while he was still blinking about _that_ , she disappeared out the door and trotted across the street, beelining for the coffee shop with only a cursory glance for traffic.

\-----

Vic insisted the box get pride of place at the wall-end of the consultation counter. Even cleared away a few flyers, stray business cards, and abandoned sketches so she could make room and wipe the counter down before arranging the box to her liking.

Everybody who came in after that looked (or _stopped_ and looked, mouths working as though they were looking for words to make sense of what they were seeing) but Colleen Murphy was the first one to say anything. Completely derailed her consult to discuss a new wrist piece with "Okay, no. I can't. Just. What the _hell_ " and a lot of directional flailing. 

Just in case Derek didn't understand what she was talking about.

Vic laughed herself sick while Derek dropped his head into his hands. "It's Stiles' birthday next Monday. My aunt--"

"Stiles," Colleen sounded out, eyes narrowing before she sat up, grinning. "Wait. The kid? Mascot?"

"He's turning eighteen," Cara yelled up from her station at the back (and it was a damn good thing her hearing had always been a bit freaky). "He's had an appointment since, what, August?"

Vic nodded, grinning as she grabbed a sharpie and scribbled something on a piece of--well, honestly, it looked like the back of one of their complaint letters, all sharp folds and crumpled edges. "Yeah, August-ish."

Then she walked over and taped her sign up on the wall, stuck to a rare patch of empty wall on the bottom and tacked between the edges of a mermaid and a seashell cornucopia on top.

It said 'Mascot's Birthday', with a big arrow pointing down at the package. Because Vic was ridiculous.

(Stiles cackled for a good five minutes when he came by after school and saw the display. Refused to take them home.)

\-----

Derek couldn't believe it. When he came back in Wednesday morning, there were another two boxes (Peter and Tania, though he could only smell Peter on the outer layers), an envelope that smelled like Murphy and had her distinct, loopy handwriting over the front, and--someone had given Cara access to balloons. And streamers.

There was no glitter or confetti at least. Not yet.

It wasn't long before Laura stopped in, carting a box unwieldy enough she had to back through the door. Large enough that she could have fit one of the terrors in it (which gave him a moment's pause, but no. The box wasn't squirming. Didn't smell of anything but plotting Laura, which--well, that was really just how she smelled most of the time), and broad enough Derek was able to move the shrine to Stiles' birthday off the consultation counter and onto it instead. (Finding another set of appropriately spaced blanks on the wall for the sign was a _pain_. He wound up moving the box to suit where the sign ended up.)

Several of the baristas stopped by to chat with Tony, and when Derek walked a customer up to the counter there were more cards on the pile. Most of them smelled like coffee grounds, but there was a pale green one with a sharp note of patchouli strong enough that he could pick it out from across the room and--what?

Then Vic's phoenix (long since done, and glorious, but most importantly was attached to someone that hadn't been by the shop in _months_ ) came in with a box a little bit smaller than one of Derek's hands.

Phoenix just shrugged and smiled sheepishly at Derek as he added it to the stack, then left.

"What--"

Tony snorted and walked over to clap a hand on Derek's shoulder. "Congratulations. You're dating a Cara."

And that-- 

Remembering how people had reacted when Cara was out, adjusting to the bite. How every cafe in the area knew her regular orders. How almost every regular knew her and stopped to chat if she wasn't busy.

He supposed that made sense. But.

Derek eyed the pile of boxes and wondered how much worse it was going to get.

\-----

He wasn't the only one baffled by it, at least. Aside from the non-regulars, who eyed the pile like it was an art installation or a joke, _Stiles_ did a double take when he came in again on Thursday, his scent turning sharp with spice.

"Uh. Okay. I was, uh, gonna tell you that I've just got two more midterms and it's math and English so I should be fine now, but--" He flailed a hand at the mound. "Is your family trying to make up for me not getting to spend April Fool's with them?"

That was--not an option Derek had considered, but it might have been. To start with. Payback for Derek hiding, and a treat for Stiles; it was exactly the sort of thing that would have appealed to them (especially Niq).

Derek shrugged. "Maybe? But it's not anymore. Allison dropped something off for you yesterday."

"Holy shit," Stiles muttered. Rounded the counter just enough to dump his bag on one of the stools and walked over to the pile to peer at it and--

Yup.

"Shit!" Stiles yelped, trying to push the boxes back up into place before they slid off completely, which just pushed more off on the other side. "Crap, crap, crap."

Derek flipped over to the next page in his sketchbook and tried to capture the moment, movement and all.

\-----

"You could've helped, y'know."

Derek smirked and shrugged, not taking his eyes off the page as he slipped in another half-impression of a hand. "You seemed to have it under control."

Stiles huffed and dragged a stool closer so he could peer over Derek's arm at the sketch. Snorted and pointed. " _That_ looked under control, to you?"

"No," Derek admitted. "The stacking after. Which is the part I'd have been helping with. And besides, I was busy."

"Busy."

"Mhm."

Stiles' stool rocked backward, not quite enough to take the front feet off the floor, as Stiles pushed away from the counter with a heavy sigh. "I don't know why I like you so much."

"Me either," Derek agreed cheerfully, looking up just long enough to flash a teeth-filled grin and poke Stiles in the side with the back end of his pencil.

It was weirdly satisfying, watching Stiles flinch back and flail to regain his balance when the stool started to tip. ( _That_ Derek would have helped with, but Stiles was upright and scowling again in no time.)

"Jerk."

Derek shrugged again and went back to his--cartoon. There wasn't really any other word for it. "So what _is_ the plan for your birthday? Much as they love you, I don't think Vic and Cara would let you have the party here."

"Yeah," Stiles nodded, shoulders bobbing along. "They've already complained about having to close down the shop for my graduation, which--that is _so_ not necessary, or my fault, for the record."

Derek could still remember the way Laura groaned when she realized that Stiles being pack meant they had to do another high school graduation, _years_ earlier than they'd thought.

"But, uh. I don't really--have a plan?" Stiles grimaced when Derek lifted his head to stare incredulously. "Don't look at me like that! I'm not used to having this many people invested!" His feel through the bond went--fuzzy, then he was blushing, just a little, and pretending interest in some of the flash on the wall. "And, maybe, I've been distracted. Slightly."

Somewhere in the back, Cara was trying desperately not to giggle while she worked on someone (a flash piece, he thought--one of the pinup devils). 

"You should get used to that." Derek tried (tried to _mostly_ be talking about the people), but Stiles was already rolling his eyes, saying "And whose family was it that doesn't really do birthdays, again?"

Derek shrugged and set his pencil down. "We do for Cara. And Tania." (They would for Niq, but what she wanted most seemed to be the ability to pretend like aging was something that happened to other people.)

Stiles slumped against his side and Derek turned until he could curl an arm around his mate, nuzzle into his hair. "What do you usually do?"

"Sleep in, if it's on break. Which." Stiles raised the arm not curled into Derek's side in a fake cheer. "Scott comes over and we make pancakes, then play video games. Meet some friends at the arcade, sometimes, or just goof off at home. Dad usually breaks out the grill for burgers once he's off shift. But he's taking an evening shift this year, uh," Stiles coughed, scent spiking to nutmeg and his feel across the bond going amused and embarrassed in equal turn. "I--think he was basically refusing to admit that you _weren't_ going to show up with a ribbon wrapped around your dick. So."

Cara lost it. Her gun flipped off and she was gasping out apologies to her customer.

(They had to be _so_ confused.)

"I think I'm starting to get how to punish eavesdroppers in your family," Stiles said cheerfully, leaning away just a bit so he could bump his shoulder against Derek's. "But anyway. That's-- We don't really do big things."

That sounded like there was an 'anymore' tacked on, somewhere around the edge of the bond that throbbed like a broken bone.

"So. Sleep in," Derek suggested. Grinned when Stiles huffed and elbowed him. "Do pancakes with Scott and your dad. Hang out with them until your appointment, or your dad goes on shift. Bring Scott here if you want. Unless he's--"

Stiles snorted, cutting him off. "Dude, Scott works with Dr. Deaton. Doing, like, actual assistant stuff. He's the _least_ squeamish person I know."

"Okay," Derek scuffled Stiles' hair, because he could and he liked the way it made Stiles' bond light up with indignation and delight at the same time. "So bring him along. We'll get you inked, then head to my house for a barbeque with whatever friends you want."

They'd have to keep the babies out of sight, but that was pretty much a given anyway. Olivia would probably want to sleep through most of it anyway, so they could just curl the babies up with her in one of the soundproofed rooms in the basement.

"That's-- Okay," Stiles agreed, scent going soft. "Sounds like a plan."

"Sounds like a plan that means we might as well keep the art installation up," Vic cut in, practically _between_ them, making both of them jump. "And you two are seriously twitterpated. It's disgusting," she said, but she was grinning. Felt fond. "Also, Derek's off shift, now. Get out of here."

(They ended up at Floyd's. Wound up inviting their waitress to Stiles' not-party. _How_ that happened they couldn't figure out, but it sounded like she was working that night anyway.)

(There was another envelope on the stack the next day though, when Derek came in, with Floyd's logo and a hastily scrawled 'Stiles' in handwriting that looked familiar.)

\-----

"Do you know anybody who smokes?"

"Hello to you too," Derek drawled. "How was your day?"

Stiles snorted, the sound distorting across the phone line in a way that was almost as familiar as the noise itself, now. "Not bad. Boring. Between my stupid boyfriend having appointments all day and Deaton thinking Spring Break means he gets to pile the non-school work on as much as he likes, it kinda sucked. Now. Seriously. Smoker?"

"Why on earth are you asking?" Derek groaned, giving up on walking home and collapsing against a convenient tree.

"I turn 18 in two days," Stiles pointed out, as though this was obvious, and--oh. "I don't, actually, have any interest in smoking, but it's a rite of passage thing, right? Buying cigarettes on your eighteenth birthday?"

"And porn," Derek suggested, just to hear Stiles snort over the phone again.

"Yeah, no. I can find better stuff online for cheaper, and I've got you anyway. Who needs porn?"

"Who needs cigarettes?"

"That's what I'm asking _you_!"

"I don't know anyone who smokes, Stiles. You know almost everyone I do. Remember?"

"Damnit."

"I'm sure you'll live."

\-----

Date day wound up being another double date, because Stiles secretly hated him.

But the bitter-lemon edge in John's scent disappeared when he found Scott poking dubiously at a pot of pasta, waiting for Allison to finish ribboning some basil (he could practically hear Peter correcting him with an irritable ' _chiffonade_ ', but whatever) to get a second opinion on whether or not it was done yet. Went cedar when Stiles threatened Derek with a cutting board over the seasonings for the sauce. Came to Derek's defense even though everybody knew Stiles wouldn't mean to connect if he did.

Allison was better at first person shooters than Scott, but wasn't used to their preferred games. Wound up in a two hour long argument with the boys about the merits of something called Halo over COD (which--Derek assumed was Call of Duty? It was the only name he'd picked up, and it seemed to be what they played most, anyway).

It was okay, though. She was _terrible_ at Mario Kart.

\-----

Derek had been relegated to the floor for a while with Scott while Stiles and Allison worked out their differences with a shooting game that pit them against each _other_ when Allison piped up randomly with "Oh, hey, Stiles, would it be alright with you if I came along tomorrow? For the tattoo? Scott said he's--"

"Uh?" Stiles blinked, trying to get his--avatar or whatever under cover. "Yeah. Sure?"

"There is bleeding," Derek felt obligated to point out, because an alarming number of people didn't put needles and ink together and wind up at the correct conclusion. "Just so you know."

"Yeah, that's fine," Allison chirped, her video-person popping up to change position and continue shooting at Stiles. "I've skinned rabbits before. It's not--"

"Why does _everyone_ around me have it out for bunnies?" Stiles grumbled, twisting his torso as his character was able to dart out from behind cover and run across the street like a deranged squirrel. "Aside from Scott, I mean."

"Because they taste good," Allison laughed, moving behind a half broken down wall when Stiles finally got a bead on her. "This is great, though."

Derek tilted his head back against the couch to eye Allison. There was something familiar about the twist at the corner of her mouth. It reminded him of Peter, or Niq, or his _mother_. "You thinking of getting a tattoo?"

"Maybe," she shrugged, leaning forward like she was getting ready for something. "But I've also never seen Stiles without at least two shirts on, so--"

Both Stiles and Scott made alarmed choking noises, and Stiles wasn't able to recover in time as Allison's avatar darted out from cover and shot his several times in a row.

Allison threw her arms up gleefully, still holding the remote, and Derek couldn't help laughing, even if it did get him a kick in the shoulder from Stiles.

\-----

Technically, he was only working a half-day. Didn't have anything scheduled until 10.

He got there before Tony anyway. Was halfway through his opening routine before Tony stumbled in with--

Coffee, obviously, but something sweet, too. Fruity, but muddled.

"You're late," he called back instead of asking, because some habits were hard to break.

"You're early," Tony countered, raising his voice over the shuff of fabric. "And I'm not psychic for knowing you would be." Then his footsteps were crossing the room and he was abandoning a travel cup on the consultation counter and shooing Derek toward it. "C'mon, if you're in on your own time you shouldn't be dealing with the phone."

Derek snorted and grabbed his sketchbook. "I only answered one call. Left the messages for you."

"You're all heart."

It was both surprising and not to take a sip of the drink Tony had brought him and getting a familiar rush of mango and vanilla.

\-----

By the time Stiles unfurled into a solid presence in his head, not just a direction, Derek had already wiped his station down _twice_. Was tempted to do it again, just because.

"You're so cute when you're nervous," Cara laughed, bumping her shoulder against his and dragging him back to the office for one of the cupcakes Vic had stashed for the occasion.

"It's an easy design, and Stiles knows as much as he can about the process without having any ink yet. It's gonna go _fine_ ," she assured him, plucking one of the cakes with a mound of bright orange frosting out of the tray and--

Derek was still blinking in shock when Cara took the cupcake away from his cheek and shoved it in his hand, cackling with glee as she scurried out the door before he could even _start_ growling.

To be fair, cleaning the frosting out of his stubble _did_ keep him distracted until the front door was opening and Stiles' laughter filled the shop.

Derek gave his cheek one last swipe with a paper towel and walked out. 

Stiles was a little occupied, with Cara latched onto his side like a barnacle and Tony reaching over her to ruffle his hair. Allison was laughing and tugging Scott away from the small mountain of presents. Beamed at him and waved enthusiastically when she saw him looking.

He waved back but his attention was mostly on Stiles, squirming loose from Cara and letting himself into the back, arms suddenly around his waist and smile pressing against his own.

"Hi," Stiles whispered, smile spreading before he pulled back and frowned at Derek. "Why do you smell like sugar?"

"Cara," was all the explanation he felt was necessary. Grabbed Stiles' hips and turned him toward the front station behind the wall. "They got you cupcakes, but--"

Stiles shook his head, stripping off his outer shirts as he made his way toward the chair. "Yeah, no. I don't think sugar and asking me to sit still is gonna be a good combo."

It was one of their triskele shirts underneath. Not that it was a surprise.

Derek was wearing the other one.

"And _how_ many chocolate chip pancakes did you eat this morning, again?" Scott teased, slipping past the gate as Tony held it open for him and Allison.

Stiles rolled his eyes as he grabbed the hem of his last shirt, opening his mouth and--

Allison's wolf whistle made his jaw snap shut and the rest of his face go red. Scott doubled over laughing while Tony just nodded and hopped up to sit on the consultation counter.

"I like her."

His life.

Stiles made a face at the rest of them and stripped out of his shirt, tossing it on the stool he'd thrown the others over. "Hah. Hah. Can we get to the body modifying part of this experience, please?"

It wasn't that quick, of course. 

Derek had to get his gloves on, fill the ink cup and pull out the tray with all the wipes and bandaging he'd need. Had to prep his gun and roll everything over to the chair. 

Allison hovered just far back enough to watch without being in the way, taking in every detail. Scott vanished into the office for a cupcake, uninterested, and Stiles chatted with Cara, already familiar with the whole song and dance of setting up.

It was still different, having Stiles settle down against the chair without a shirt on. Scott reappeared, cupcake in hand, when Stiles not-yelped at the alcohol wipe, coming over to check on things. He giggled when he saw Stiles, cut himself down to a grin when Stiles pulled faces, and Derek accidentally missed the first stencil placement.

(How that turned into too many people in the bathroom, Stiles grumbling over the inspection of his chest to verify he'd shaved well enough, and a near-water fight when Stiles definitely 'accidentally' sprayed Scott with the sink faucet while washing up, Derek wasn't sure.)

They got it right on the second try, triskele settling into place next to Stiles' heart, and Derek spun his stool close, picked up the gun. Stiles was staring at the ceiling, forcing himself to breathe deeper, anxious excitement rattling through the bond.

"Hey," he said softly, poking Stiles with a knuckle and waiting until his eyes came back down. Locked on Derek instead. "Stay with me, okay? This shouldn't be too bad."

Stiles nodded and didn't flinch when Derek turned the gun on. Kept his eyes on Derek's face as he bent to the task of laying down the first line, pulling the skin taut and tracing the outer edge of a spiral. Letting his mind get lost in the buzz.

\-----

The sting against his back stopped abruptly, and Derek smothered a growl against the headrest.

"Oh my god, is he falling _asleep_?"

Vic laughed somewhere behind him. "Yeah. He does that. You doing okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Stiles muttered and the gun came back. Pinpoint sparks of pain that flared and faded and flared again.

It was comforting. Like white noise for his skin.

"I'm pretty sure you shouldn't be letting me do this yet," Stiles huffed, but he didn't really mean it. They'd been having that argument ever since he graduated.

"Relax. If you mess up, it'll fade out in a few years. And you can't infect Derek with anything if you messed up any of the safety. Which you didn't."

"Yeah, but--"

Derek let their voices fade out. Let himself get lost in the familiar buzz and flare.

He was safe. It was okay to relax and just enjoy it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a heads up, there is a lot of work to be done for the next (and final) chapter, and on top of that I'm going to be on the wrong coast from Wednesday to about--Wednesday. I'll still be trying to get the next chapter up for Monday, but this is just a notice that life might prevent that. I'll post to my tumblr if the update's going to be delayed.
> 
> And a quick reminder: I will be posting a complete listing of all the tattoo artists I've linked in IM at the very end, with updated links. This is technically a first draft, and I will be editing it heavily for problems with pacing, tone, and wording. I will be leaving this version up, for those who've gotten attached to it. More additions to this timeline might happen on Kitchen Sink, because I didn't get to address some things I would have liked to, for various reasons.
> 
> Thank you guys so much for following me on this ride. It's been a blast.


	87. Epilogue: we've never been normal

Lan had come in for his final round of touchups, finally finished with the big lines and healed up enough for all the little gaps where things hadn't quite joined up perfectly to show. He'd pulled his shirts off for Derek to see, turned and twisted and reached for nothing so Derek could stare judgmentally at the circles on circles on circles flowing out from the jagged line above Lan's shoulder blade, over his shoulder to cup his pectoral, curling around his arm and down his back in progressively smaller circles until his arm went to scale-mail and his back went to loose scattered sequins.

(Not that Derek would ever tell Lan that. Once he saw it he'd never be able to un-see it, and the design was glorious.)

Then Derek mentioned why he'd pushed for the earliest appointment Lan's skin was up for, and Lan started bitching.

He bitched his way into the back, into the bathroom while Derek gloved up and prepped his skin, and onto the table, forehead propped on his other forearm so he could keep talking. "I cannot _believe_ you assholes are moving."

Derek, who'd been grinning behind Lan's back the entire time (and whose cheeks were starting to hurt), deadpanned "We're gonna be all of three hours away. You'll live."

" _Nocal_ ," Lan muttered darkly. "Pah."

"You're lucky I'm already gloved up. I'm gonna have to hit you after I'm done with you," Derek informed him, picking up the gun and eying an uneven line over Lan's rhomboid.

But Lan flicked his fingers, stopping Derek before he could even turn the machine on, and Derek waited as Lan started shaking with laughter. (And maybe, just possibly, admiring the way the design rippled with the motion.)

Bright, familiar fireworks flashed across the bond, elation and excitement sharp even at a five mile radius, and Derek grinned again when his phone started buzzing, off in the back. Grinned wider at the sting of irritation when he didn't move, the way his phone _stopped_ buzzing as fast as it had started.

Lan had stopped laughing, so Derek fake-grumbled "You done?"

That got him another snicker, but Lan nodded, quirking his hand to call Derek back as he put his head down on his arm again, snarking "Yeah, yeah, last thing I want is to have to drive three hours for a few pinpricks."

Derek's grin showed teeth that time. "But you would."

"Hell yeah I would, you jackass. I'm not letting anybody else touch this."

(Derek was going to miss Lan. The way he blended insults and affection made him feel almost like family.)

His sense of Stiles swelled to full strength, irritation and amusement singing behind his eyes as he set off down Lan's back, fixing the tiny specks of flesh dotting the ink.

\-----

They were arguing about the lack of bill (Derek was just fixing his own mistakes--Lan didn't owe him anything for that) when Stiles hip-checked the front door open.

Derek carefully didn't smirk when Stiles tilted his head to stare up at the annoying buzzer. The one that hadn't gone off.

"I think it's broken," he drawled, feeling amused disbelief curling up the nape of his neck. "I left Lori a note."

"Suuuuuuure," Stiles replied, rolling his eyes. Then he was pushing his way behind the register, passing Derek his messenger bag to set on the back table and refusing to give up the space when Derek turned back. "Go clean up your station and stop insisting people can't pay you for your time."

"But--"

"No, I like this one," Lan smirked, handing his card over to Stiles.

Stiles braced his foot like he meant business so Derek signed and leaned in to press a kiss against the spikysaur hiding behind his ear. Smirked when Stiles shivered, and again when Stiles swatted him for it.

"As you wish," he whispered, to get hit again, and chuckled his way back to his station.

"So, what're we charging you?" Stiles chirped behind him, voice only a little unsteady. "A buck?"

"Don't you guys have a min--"

"Please. You just want to tip and don't have cash. You're gonna go over the minimum, I promise."

Derek stopped listening. Focused on the tiny amount of actual cleanup involved, then went around collecting the day's worth of equipment that needed dealing with before closing.

Lan complained "Nocal!" and Derek instantly looked up, grinning toothily, and waved back when Lan waved.

Stiles locked the door after him, pulled the window gratings down, went through and closed out the register, muttering to himself in a way that made him incredibly easy to track by ear.

As Derek closed up the cleaner and started the cycle, Stiles said "Shara finished our page. Both sides of it."

Derek perked up. "Lunic Runic?"

Stiles grinned, excitement and delight making the bond spread out fuchsia and gold. "Ready to go live, as soon as we approve it."

"We'll have to run it past a few muggles, first," Derek said without thinking, then immediately cursed himself because Stiles was a _horrible_ influence on his vocabulary.

Who knew it, gloried in it, splashed tangerine smug overtop of the fuchsia as he agreed "Yeah. I'm pretty hopeful, though."

(If it didn't work, Derek thought he might cry. Or bite something.) (Not Laura, though. Shara might _kill_ him, and knew enough to manage it. And there was no way his family was going to close ranks against Laura's longest running relationship since Thomas.)

There were lots of magical services websites. Most of them were potions and prayers and charms, but the ones claiming legitimate inborn-power magical services did pop up.

They were mostly bullshit (Derek didn't think he'd ever figure out why the idea of being the reincarnation of someone famous was so appealing), but there were a few that weren't. A few trying to walk the delicate line between being available to help others and avoiding being too easily identifiable. 

They couldn't hide Stiles. Not when his tattoos _stayed_ on wolves. When he could work protection and healing right into somebody's skin.

(Shara's was the first magical services website that actually had magic worked into it. Let itself hide in plain sight, right under her name.

Depending on their live date, they'd be the second or the third.)

Putting the broom away, Derek peered over at his mate. "Do you have your bribe ready for Laura yet?"

"I finished her crow last week," Stiles smirked. "And I maintain that it was a total pain in the ass, and she should have gone for a raven if she wanted a corvid."

(But Derek had a raven now, crouched in profile with the tail brushing the top of his ass on one side, and the head wrapping around to his stomach on the other with a miniature moon in its beak, and Stiles' shoulders were wreathed in starlings and magpies.

And a crow was better than a jay, at least.)

"Do you know what Shara wants, yet?" Stiles asked, leaning back against the counter, head cocked.

The thought made Derek want to groan. So did the way Stiles' smile widened at the feeling, his scent going cedar and sweet. "Some sort of mutant hybrid of code and circuits. We're going to have to sit down together to talk it out."

For _hours_. With _all_ the diagrams.

Stiles laughed, because he was absolutely heartless. "You're going to love it and you know it. Now c'mon, I wanna show you the draft she sent us."

"I need to re-sort the inks," Derek grumbled, but let Stiles grab his hand and pull him away from the station.

"What, so Lori can put them back her way in the morning?" Stiles snorted, abandoning Derek's hand to slip their laptop out of his bag and set it up. "You didn't have anything but black work, did you?"

Busted.

"We're gone after tomorrow," Stiles pointed out, offensively reasonably. "Let her have _one day_ without your passive aggressive little argument." Mirth lit up the bond, beating the flare of a smile over Stiles' face. "It might shock her into a heart attack. Now." He turned the laptop toward Derek. "Voila."

"Your accent's still painful," Derek sighed, leaning across the table to get a better look.

"That's because I don't _have_ one," Stiles replied, more rote than anything.

Which was good, because Derek wasn't really paying attention.

Stiles had done the art for the background, bordering his side with swoops of graceful, chaotic curls, and Derek's with emotional abstracts (afternoon of a full moon, curled up with Stiles, and winning a wrestling match with Laura) and Yuriko's blackwork.

(Derek had sent Shara Stiles' third draft, because it was _good_ and she needed something to run with. Stiles tried to murder him when she sent the mockup back with all the art in place, because he'd just finished draft sixty.)

(Draft three was still the best. Stiles even admitted it, eventually.)

It looked good--even better now that Derek had won the argument about a pale French grey for the base color instead of a fleshy taupe--but that wasn't the point. The portfolios were the point. Stiles' columned on the left, under a picture Tania had taken of him grinning at her, and Derek's on the right, under a picture of him in profile, leaning in to work a curl of wisteria over a knee.

Between the two columns, carefully placed next to the relevant photos, Shara'd put text that people who weren't looking, who weren't aware of the power they probably had, hopefully couldn't see.

 _Born wolf client, two years without retouch at time of photo_ next to the cartoony toy robot Danielle had on her ankle and, more importantly, the fake scar he'd given her for camouflage. Subtle, pale, thin, but still there.

 _Bitten wolf client, to lessen anxiety_ for Cara's only pure-blackwork piece, the one that Derek still thought looked like a treble clef on steroids, _design modified four times to increase and decrease effect to suit client's needs_.

 _Scar removal_ on the watercolor feather light and delicate enough to see there was certainly no scar left anymore. They had before pictures, both pre-ink and right after Stiles had finished the tattoo, but Shara couldn't hide those like she could with the words.

(Not yet, anyway.)

"So?" Stiles huffed, poking Derek _just_ below the ticklish spot on his ribs. "Are we okay with it?"

Derek scrolled up and down a couple of times, clicked over to the artist profiles to make sure Laura hadn't gotten into Shara's files (again), clicked back to the portfolios. As portfolios, they were simple. Nearly minimalist. They didn't need to be anything dramatic, though. Didn't need to draw attention directly. Word of mouth was going to get the information where it needed to go, and between Alan's network, Edward's European contacts, the Hale Pack's name and involvement with packs all across the continent--he wasn't worried about that.

"I think it's good."

"Should've pulled it up while Lan was here," Stiles mulled, scrolling down idly before closing the computer. "He could've been our muggle."

"No." Derek frowned when Stiles snickered at him. " _No_. I like Lan," he added, ignoring Stiles' muttered "You like his stupidly complicated tastes" with the ease of a lot of practice, "and I am going to _make_ him come visit Beacon Hills. No scaring him off with magic. Not risking it."

Stiles' amusement crested, sharp but fond and twisting like the snakes he had wrapped around his right forearm. "You have a weird way of showing friendship," he pointed out, again. "But, hey. I have something else for you too. Remember this?"

He extracted an envelope from his messenger bag, passed it over as he shoved the laptop back where it came from.

"I'm familiar with envelopes," Derek offered, turning it over in his hands. It was sealed, but there were no marks on it. No intentional marks, at least, just smudges and darkened creases. Something shifted inside as he turned it over, too firm to be paper.

"Yeah, I forgot about it too. I'm pretty sure there's a couple of tarot cards in there, though. I should probably give 'em back to Deaton at some point."

And that-- _That_ he remembered. "That thing you did to mute the bond," he said slowly, trying to wrap his head around the idea. The idea of it still _being_ there, when he could practically talk to his mate through emotional impressions five miles out, no problem. Could still feel him so far out that most mate bonds had faded into life-and-direction. "That can't--"

"Yeah, no, don't think so," Stiles agreed, reaching out to take the envelope from Derek and shaking it, making the contents rattle. "They aren't tied together anymore. I'm guessing it wore off as our bond developed naturally." He shrugged, dropping the envelope into his bag and clicking the latch into place. "Or as naturally as our bond gets, anyway."

Fair enough.

"So. What. Our normal freakiness finally outgrew our supernatural freakiness?" Derek teased. "Is that what you're saying?"

Stiles laughed, leaning into Derek's side. "Dude. We've never been normal."

"Good, though," Derek rumbled. Knew he was blushing even as he leaned over to kiss Stiles' spikysaur again.

"Yeah. Still good," Stiles quipped back, smirk shining through the bond like an emotion.

"I'm going to kill you one of these days." 

Stiles snickered, scent going to nutmeg and apples. "Nah. You love me too much for that."

Damnit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking for the tattoo links? They're [here, on Google Drive](https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1Eo2USaLd47tUMxZYQqLvSNAIdqXJjNUec2V53RKaIEw/edit?usp=sharing). Public ability to add comments is active and will remain so for as long as people behave themselves. Please limit comments to pointing out links that have broken.
> 
> This is the last chapter. Yes, I will be going back and revising this fic, but I'm going to throw myself at a couple of other projects that have been waiting first. And I won't be able to really start on the second story in the series until after the revision is done. So. 
> 
> Side Note: The revision will be posted as a whole new work, which will take the place of this one in the series. This version will remain with updated notes and information, and both will link to each other. So don't worry that this version is going away, for those of you who love it.
> 
> This is the end for a long while. But Indelible Marks will come back.
> 
> Part 2 will be Never Normal (title might change), Stiles' perspective of the time period in Indelible Marks.

**Author's Note:**

> At the suggestion of [Too_Old](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Too_Old), I have created [a live journal entry](http://billradish.livejournal.com/1506925.html) in which fans of Indelible Marks can talk about the story, if they wish. I already have a fairly firm outline for what's happening and when in _this_ story, but I'm not going to say that conversations I can see might not influence things written for Kitchen Sink. ;)
> 
> Hopefully anonymous comments are enabled, but screened. Because oh, the spam. But also, not everyone has an LJ account.
> 
> I can also be found [on tumblr](http://billtheradish.tumblr.com/), and post a link there whenever I update this story.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Indelible Marks [Video + Art]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/604512) by [Birddi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birddi/pseuds/Birddi)
  * [Art for Indelible Marks by billtheradish](https://archiveofourown.org/works/667330) by [YoukeyH (Vampisticated)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampisticated/pseuds/YoukeyH)




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